Disenchanted
by BunBunBun
Summary: After losing two years of his memory, Dean wakes up to find himself in a long-term relationship with his own brother. But then he wakes up again – and has to realize that none of it has ever been real in the first place. [amnesia/Dschinn, Wincest]
1. 1-1 Prologue

**Pairing:** Wincest

**Setting:** Part One: mostly S8, Part Two: mostly S6

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Supernatural, sadly :-I

**_Notes:_** So here we are with another story of mine. This one actually consists of a shorter story included in a longer one, so you can choose whether you want to read...

- the **short version (Part One)**, which is basically a pretty harmonic amnesia fic  
_(Tags: _Amnesia, Dean in denial, patient Sam, Trials workaround, everything went better than expected) or

- the **long version (Parts One and Two)**, in which Dean loses his Sammy and gets back to the real one in breaking free from the illusion.  
(_Tags:_ Dschinn, illusion, hurt and lonely Dean, confused Sam, alternate batcave)  
(_Warning:_ the long version will contain a character death that's somewhat temporary but not quite)

Now...enjoy :)

* * *

**PART ONE**

**Days Enchanted**

* * *

**1.1 Prologue**

_With Dean, 2011_

As the stars were shining brightly in the sky, only the sound of cicadas chirping disrupted the silence of a peaceful summer evening.

The motel room offered a small yet cosy balcony that was nothing short of perfect for a good, old-fashioned beer after work.

Altogether, it might have become a nice evening.

But the hunt had gone awry.

A beer was the last thing on both brothers' minds as they got home at last – while Dean reached for the scotch right away, Sam could finally hold his comment no longer.

"Dean, you've got no reason to complain," he stressed heatedly as he tossed his jacket and shirt on a nearby chair to assess the actual damage to to his arm, which was bleeding profusely, "Compared to what would have happened if we had stuck to the plan, this is nothing."

"That's not the point, Sam," Dean countered as he turned on his heels to glare at his brother, "If we agree on not playing the bait, we don't." He sucked in a deep breath through his teeth. "At the very least, you should have told me, dammit."

Narrowing his eyes, Sam held his brother's gaze for a long moment before heaving an angry sigh. "We've been working together for years, Dean," he insisted, "You can handle that without me yelling the plan all over the battlefield, and _you did_."

Shaking his head, Dean strode back towards the door. "Remember what I told you this morning?" he spoke at a lower volume and grabbed the first aid kit from the counter, "'If you do this, I'm not stitching you back together.'"

Frowning, Sam opened his mouth to retort, but was silenced when the bandages were carelessly tossed into his arms.

"So good luck with that," Dean grunted before walking through the door and slamming it shut.

He pointedly ignored Sam calling after him, a hint of panic in his voice.

He also disregarded the fact he had been unnecessarily cruel in that moment. Of course he'd help the idiot with his injury – but only in half an hour, or something. For the moment, Sam seemed fine enough, and Dean had to stress his point; to his younger brother, it must have felt like their everyday battle – some minor injuries here, some property damage there, but eventually a mission accomplished.

To Dean, however, it had felt much different. Sam might have only gotten his arm scratched in the end – but he had been damn close to losing his head altogether. Too damn close.

Dean had every right to be upset.

As a matter of fact, he doubted he would set the stitches right with his hands shaking like that. He was still so terrified he felt nothing but hot white fury directed at anything that came too close.

Sam could wait a couple of minutes. For the moment, as he was sitting on the Impala staring hazily at the landscape ahead, Dean needed the silence and the cool night breeze to calm down his own nerves.

Of course, it lasted only a few short minutes.

As he heard soft footfalls, he accepted in mild annoyance that Sam, stubborn as he was, would not let the matter rest.

Heaving a sigh, he finally turned his head to meet his brother's eyes, but... Dean realized too late that the dark figure approaching him was far too small to be Sam.

Before he knew it, the whole world went white.

- Prologue: End -

* * *

Notes: To prevent any confusion - this isn't what causes Dean's lack of memories, but the last event he _does_ remember.


	2. 1-2 Amnesia

_Notes_: Italic paragraphs mark flashbacks.

* * *

**1.2 Amnesia**

_2013, with Dean_

For a long time, there was nothing.

Just white and black and, well, nothing.

"Dean."

And the occasional faint calling of his name, of course.

"Dean!"

He did not know where he was or what had happened, and for a long time, that was absolutely all right with him. Just floating through nothingness felt refreshingly relaxing.

Suddenly, however, he sensed immense pressure on his chest, just a short impulse, but repeated so often he did not even bother counting.

Not that it troubled him, per say. It was kind of relaxing in its steady rhythm.

Just when he had grown comfortable with the motion, though, it suddenly stopped.

Instead, the sensation was replaced by a pair of lips pressed against his own. Suddenly, he noticed how air was being pushed into his lungs.

It was only then that he remembered that he was supposed to be breathing in the first place.

So that's what he did.

Inhaling sharply, he remembered to live. His entire body jerked and his eyes shot open, but he only understood the situation when he saw his brother's face still hovering far too close to comfort above him with an expression of sheer despair etched on his features.

If only for a short time, Dean had stopped breathing.

Again.

His body might be telling him, but it showed so much more clearly on Sam's face. Within a blink, the terror on his face turned into pure relief.

Dean might have stopped breathing, but he would always have to come back – for he could never let Sammy down.

"Dean," his hilariously tall younger brother whispered hoarsely as he all but squashed him in a hug, "Thank God."

Exhausted both physically and mentally, Dean simply patted his brother's back wordlessly. It was awkward, and he had no idea what had even happened.

He only knew he had just gotten too close to the veil yet again.

And, considering how incredibly tightly Sam was holding him, Dean had probably freaked him out a bit too much. "Dude," he finally joked, if only to ease the tension, "you just kissed me."

It seemed to do the trick; chuckling humorlessly, Sam let go and returned to kneeling next to his brother. "If that's what you need to stay alive," he replied and forced a grin on his lips that did not quite manage hiding his inner turmoil, "I'd never stop."

Dean opened his mouth and closed it again. Leave it to Sam to phrase an innocent statement in the most ambiguous way possible.

No, strike that.

There was no way you could _not_ hear a flirtation in that comment.

But regardless of whether it had been a joke or a poor choice of words, Dean's lack of reaction let the moment pass as soon as it had come.

"How do you feel?" Sam asked quietly, any trace of humor gone from his voice, "Can you walk?"

Inhaling deeply, Dean finally bothered checking his own body's responsiveness. "I'm fine," he stated automatically. Nothing felt broken or numb. But for some reason, he was so weakened even a task as menial as sitting up drained him of all his powers.

He wouldn't admit it out loud, but he was grateful for Sam's hand steadying his back in that moment. "What the hell happened anyway?" he asked gruffly as he looked around.

Sure enough, they were sitting in the middle of a dirty corridor that had recently been decorated in a muddy mixture of water and blood as well as...some cut-off heads? Dean frowned. Vampires? They had just disposed of a Wendigo – why the hell would vampires bother ambushing him after a hunt like that?

As he took a short moment to summarize the situation, Sam's face grew darker. "You hit your head pretty hard earlier," he reported quietly, "I guess that's what got you the bright idea to electrocute the vamps..." He gulped. "...and yourself along with them."

Breathing steadily at last, Dean took in that information. "At least it took them out long enough, huh?" he cracked a small grin as he nodded towards the nearest corpse.

It was not quite a corpse yet.

Following his gaze, Sam nodded, grabbed the machete he must have dropped next to them earlier and got up to finish the job. While they must have dealt with most of them before the electro shock therapy, there were still at least four vamps merely unconscious rather than decapitated.

They did not live much longer.

A mere minute later, Sam returned to Dean's side. Rather than pulling his still frail brother up to his feet, though, he crouched next to him and simply picked him up bridal style.

"What the hell, man!" Dean protested at once, scandalized but too tired to struggle enough to get out of Sam's arms.

"You're too weak to walk," the younger man explained matter-of-factly as he set off towards the exit, seemingly unfazed by the additional weight on his shoulders, "and I'd rather get you somewhere safe quickly."

"Dammit, man," Dean protested in annoyance, "first you kiss me awake, now you carry me like that? I'm not a goddamn Disney princess."

Sighing, Sam sent him a tired look. "But a damsel in distress," he stressed and kicked a door open, navigating them through, "Just ignore your ego for a moment and you'll get whatever you want later, alright? Just don't fall asleep on me for now."

Dean's frown deepened, but aside from the sheer awkwardness of the situation, he couldn't help being a bit intrigued by that offer. "Whatever I want?" he repeated incredulously, wondering for the second time that day whether Sam actually _meant_ to sound ambiguous.

It was then that Sam arched an eyebrow at him and something strange happened.

The younger hunter stopped walking just briefly enough to lean down and whisper four very quiet yet very concise words into his brother's ear.

_"__Whatever you want, Dean."_

For better or for worse, that mere action sent a shiver down Dean's spine, and as he found himself at a loss of words yet again, he felt as if his brain might just as well have short-circuited again.

* * *

_Later_

Inhaling deeply, Dean leant back and put his feet on the table as he let his gaze wander across the empty motel room.

He felt way too tired.

It was not just the fact he had nearly died earlier that day.

He was missing something. Something big, but he could not quite put his finger on it.

He had tried explaining it to Sam, but the problem was, he did not quite see what exactly was bothering him in the first place. If anything, conversing with Sam made it worse. It was hard enough to Dean to deal with his own thoughts still so strangely cloudy.

But Sam, too, was different.

As if they had swapped roles, Sam would tease his brother subtly or not so subtly whenever the situation arose while Dean was simply too tired and - dare he say it? - slow-witted for a proper comeback.

Worse yet, the younger hunter had dropped more innuendos in one day than in the entire year before.

Speaking of the devil, the door swung open in just that moment. Laden with several bags full of supplies – when had they ever bought so many actual ingredients? - Sam was quick to glance over to Dean, to make sure he was still up and kicking.

Frowning to himself, Dean wondered when he would actually be kicking again, but for the moment, it was all right.

"I got you some of the good stuff," Sam offered as he place the bags on the table right next to Dean's feet and began rummaging through them.

"Please tell me you didn't forget the pie," Dean all but pleaded as his watchful gaze already scanned the bags for any pie-indicating outlines.

On cue, he was handed a huge, promising plastic box. "Apple pie," Sam commented and resumed sorting the items, "You liked this one last time."

"Awesome!" Dean exclaimed and ripped the box open unceremoniously before digging right in.

It tasted like heaven and –

* * *

"_Oh man, this pie is awesome," he swooned and grinned at his brother with his mouth still full, "Seriously, dude, I could kiss you for this."_

_Unboxing his own meal, something that looked suspiciously vegetarian – again! - Sam arched an eyebrow._

"_Not that I would, of course," Dean added hastily and took another far too huge bite, "Don't get your hopes up."_

* * *

– he choked on his frigging pie. "Dean!" Sam was at his side in an instant, freeing his brother's airway with a well-placed knock on the back. "What the hell, man!"

Still coughing heavily, Dean regained his composure at last. "Just remembered something," he grumbled unhappily. It technically wasn't a lie. It felt like a flashback. But he had no idea when the hell that should have happened.

Considering his eyebrow had risen dramatically, Sam was not satisfied with that answer anyway. "About that..." he began urgently, dismissed the bags and sat next to Dean, "what do you remember?"

Dean grimaced. He had evaded the topic earlier because he did not want to talk about their argument – and how, apparently, he had just made the exact same mistake he had yelled at Sam for the day before.

Not that remembered fighting any vampires recently, which made things only worse.

"It's kinda hazy," he admitted at last, refusing to meet Sam's eyes.

"You're probably concussed," the younger brother stated, "I already tried contacting Cas, hopefully he'll get around to checking on you." He inhaled softly and put his hand on Dean's, which was still clinging to the table. "In the meantime, though, we need to assess the damage. So if it's hazy – what's the last thing you remember?"

Dean felt his brother's intent gaze on his skin, but his own eyes were fixed on the hand on his own. What the hell? Sighing gruffly, he shook it off and reached for the pie's remains.

Sam's face fell. "You – ," he began, but Dean cut him off.

"I have no idea what we were hunting, alright?" the older brother snapped, "The last thing I remember is yelling at you after that Wendigo in Utah."

Sam's eyes widened and all colour drained from his face. "Dean..."

Looking away, the older Winchester did not need to be told he was messed up. He had undergone some sort of cardiac arrest, might not recover all that well unless Cas decided to show up at last and had ended up amnesic on top of that.

He did not really want to know how bad it really was, but his brother was going to tell him anyway.

"That was two years ago," Sam stated tonelessly.

Dean inhaled sharply. "What?" _Two whole years?_ How could some blunt trauma to the head lose him _two years_?

As Dean tried, and failed, to accept the truth, Sam was trying hard not to panic – for whatever reason. This was Dean's problem, wasn't it?

They'd figure it out, as always.

"That means," Sam began slowly and nearly trailed off before seeking Dean's eyes in a nearly fearful manner, "you don't remember...?"

The question stayed as incomplete as that, and given the situation, Dean could not help feeling agitated. "That's what I just said," he retorted a bit more harshly than intended.

Sam closed his eyes.

Dean sighed and leant back.

They stayed silent for an excruciatingly long time, each brother left to his own inner battle.

Eventually, Sam stood up stiffly. "Excuse me."

He was probably about to flee for reasons unknown – which was exactly why Dean could not let that happen. "Sam?" the older Winchester warned carefully with his hand wrapped firmly around his brother's wrist, "Whatever it is, you need to tell me."

Sam's shoulders slumped and he took a deep breath before opening his eyes again. "This was hard enough the first time around, Dean," he stated flatly, "I can't do this again."

Furrowing his brows, Dean grew even more confused. Whatever the hell had happened during those two years must have shaken Sam, or them both, pretty fundamentally.

What the hell?

"We'll get Cas, and he'll get you to remember," Sam suggested as he tried peeling his brother's hand off his own.

Naturally, Dean tightened his grip.

"Sam, if I'm supposed to know, you should tell me right now."

Sam gritted his teeth and took a deep breath. "Dean, I'll..." he began and hesitated, "I'll update you soon enough." Closing his eyes for a brief moment, he eventually regained enough composure to send Dean a reassuring smile. "One way or the other, we'll sort this out," he promised and patted his brother's shoulder in what was meant as a reassuring manner but was too hesitant to work as such. "Just give me a moment first."

Only three long strides later, he was already out of the door, leaving Dean to stare after him in utter bewilderment.

So maybe he was weak and concussed, but even in that state he realized that he had just missed an entire conversation.

* * *

_Later_

With his mind slowed down, his body weakened and his limbs aching, Dean felt like crap.

Then, two fingers touched his forehead, and he had to blink a couple of times before believing it.

Inhaling deeply, feeling incredibly rejuvenated, he literally jumped out of the bed in newfound energy.

He nearly hit his head against a shelf nearby. Thoughtful as he was, though, Castiel pulled him back just enough for that not to happen.

"You need to be more careful, Dean," the angel chided him earnestly, "If I had not been available, you would have taken permanent damage."

Still busy waking up for real, Dean blinked at his friend. He had not even noticed his arrival, but boy was he glad he had shown up at last. "Dude, thanks for dropping by," he grinned amicably and tilted his head when he realized that apparently not everything had been restored. His body felt more youthful than it had in years, but when it came to whatever recent events Sam had mentioned earlier, well, he did not remember much more than what Sam had told him. "You mind repairing the memory part, too?" he prompted at last.

Fixing him in that intense gaze of his, Castiel stayed silent for a moment. "It is possible to reset your brain to an earlier state," he explained and furrowed his brows. "However, your emotional memory resides within your soul. I would prefer not to risk a de-synchronisation if your memories have already started returning anyway."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Just do it, Cas," he demanded, "The risk is much bigger if someone, something, goes after us and I don't even know what I did to the fugly it's trying to revenge."

Castiel's frown deepened.

"Besides," Dean added with a shrug, "If I'm still hunting, my emotional landscape can't have changed that much, now can it?" He huffed, "No risk, no problem."

Castiel narrowed his eyes, but refrained from voicing an objection. Instead, he averted his gaze and looked towards the other side of the hilariously large bed.

Following Castiel's gaze, Dean found Sam leaning against the wall with his arms crossed in front of him. Dean blinked. Had his brother been standing there the entire time?

He opened his mouth to add another good argument to stress his point, but before he even got that far, Sam's glare was redirected at him – and he forgot in an instant whatever he was going to say.

"No way in hell, Dean," Sam stated quietly. His words were as uncompromising as his expression, and Dean felt like just accepting it.

Then, however, he wondered who exactly had put his brother in charge of decisions that were clearly not his to make anyway. "I'm a grown-up, Sam," he informed him testily and straightened to stand his ground, "Don't patronize me."

Sam narrowed his eyes.

But it was only when he could actually see his little brother's lips trembling that Dean realized Sam was not actually seething in fury – but in expertly concealed terror. "I've already seen you too close to death today, Dean," Sam explained as his angry façade crumbled at last, "I've lost too much of you as it is." He inhaled sharply. "So don't do this to me."He lowered his head and his voice broke at last, _"Just don't."_

Eyes wide, Dean stumbled back against the bed. He had expected anything – a temper tantrum, a bitchface, but not _this_.

The Sam he knew didn't break down.

He didn't beg.

What the hell had happened in those two years?

It wasn't the first time Dean asked himself that question, and he accepted grudgingly that it wouldn't be the last time, either.

He had no idea how to deal with Sam in a condition like that, and it did not help matters the boy had made a good point.

Dean had never meant to let his brother down.

He never would.

- 1.2 Amnesia: End -


	3. 1-3 Revelation

**1.3 Revelation**

_A few days later, with Sam_

"I want to visit Bobby's grave."

Glancing up from his current research, Sam found his brother standing at the sink with a glass of whiskey in his hand.

It was eight in the morning.

Sam felt like drinking, too. He would have to be the one to do the driving, though, so that was not an option. "Let's go," he agreed and got to his feet. He gathered his belongings quickly enough, but he could not help watching his brother.

Dean downed half the glass in one gulp.

Two years' worth of their history had not done him much good. Castiel's betrayal, the Leviathans, Sam's hallucinations, Bobby's death and Dean's involuntary trip to purgatory – none of those tales were easy to stomach, even if Dean did not actively remember much of it yet.

Or did he?

Still watching his brother as he shoved his shirts into his duffel bag, Sam chose to ask right away, "Has anything returned to you?"

Instantly, Dean stopped what he was doing to send his brother a funny look.

For the briefest moment, Sam dared hoping that maybe, just maybe, it wasn't only the painful memories that were returning to Dean.

"His hat," Dean whispered tonelessly, offering nothing more and nothing less.

Closing his eyes, Sam heaved a soft sigh.

Of course, it would take Dean a long time to get over the pain and losses.

Maybe then, though, he would be ready to see that somewhere along the bumpy road, they had found a way to cope.

A way to make things worth it.

A way to enjoy life.

_Together._

Until that time came, though, Sam would have to wait and endure. Still watching his brother's sluggish movements, he hated his own powerlessness.

The pain Dean was suffering through...was one Sam would have kissed away any other time.

* * *

_The following weeks, with Dean_

Slowly but surely, things returned to normal. Once Dean felt informed enough, they resumed hunting everything that crossed their path.

A Rugarou, a werewolf and a shitload of demons.

His so called memories, which only consisted of single glimpses and impressions to begin with, were far from complete, but with at least a bit of recollection on any major event, Dean felt confident enough to wager it – and being back on the road just beat the general gloominess whichever way you looked at it.

Though, maybe general gloominess was a bit of an overstatement.

Dean was coping, and his brother was doing his best to help him with that. It did not stop with patient explanations of past hunts that sometimes filled an entire evening, though. In getting the food, letting Dean choose the television programme and doing the laundry, Sam was actively making concessions.

Not that Dean minded. Sooner or later, his brother would start bitching at him again, and until then, well, he certainly didn't mind having the last word on hunts for once.

But along with the overly courteous behaviour, Sam had developed a habit Dean did not quite know how to place. Every other day, he would go outside – just outside the motel room, stare at nothing in particular and spend half an hour doing nothing at all.

"Just needed some fresh air," Sam had stated with a shrug when Dean had asked him about it, "It gets awfully stuffy in there."

Considering his brother did not seem particularly troubled, Dean had shrugged the matter off. After all, there was nothing wrong with having some time to yourself.

Today, though, at least he did not need much more of that.

Grabbing his coat, Dean left the motel room and found his brother sitting on a flight of stairs nearby with his elbows on his knees and a pensive expression on his face.

"Hey there," Dean greeted him as he shrugged into the jacket and came to a halt in front of the stairs, "you wanna hit the bars? You can't deny today's hunt went about as well as it gets, so if that's not a reason to celebrate, I don't know what is."

Raising his head slowly as he stopped fiddling with whatever it was he was holding in his hands, Sam sent his brother a tired frown. "You're seriously asking me to watch you hook up with some big-busted barmaid?" he asked.

Shrugging, Dean replied with a chuckle. "Jealous, much?" he countered and tilted his head, "But don't worry, I'll be your wingman and we'll _both_ a get nice chick tonight."

Rolling his eyes, Sam heaved a sigh. "That's not gonna happen," he stated simply.

Dean frowned. "You're such a spoilsport," he grumbled and turned on his heels, "Well, more chicks for me."

"Dean."

Arching an eyebrow, Dean glanced over his shoulder to find his brother skidding over. "Listen, I can't tell you what to do," Sam began quietly and nodded towards the spot on the stairs he had just freed, "but before you go, stay here for a moment."

Dean's frown deepened, but he saw no harm in sitting down. "You're fine and all," he joked good-naturedly, "but your cup-size is kinda under my standards, if you understand." He sent his brother a meaningful look, but Sam merely sighed in response.

"That never bothered you before," he stated simply.

Dean choked on his own saliva. "Dude," he grumbled, still trying to regain his composure, "I get you got the best teacher there is, but can you stop it with the subtext me for a moment?" Honestly, it was a good way to put people off. Dean himself used that more often than not, so he probably shouldn't complain about rubbing off on his brother. But that just wasn't Sam's style..even though Dean had to admit, that was just another thing that might have developed naturally over the last two years.

This was what this was about then? Another anecdote to the past?

"I was hoping this would return to you before I have to tell you," Sam spoke quietly, "But considering you would never address the matter on your own anyway, let's just get this done and over with." He gulped. "But please...hear me out before you say anything, okay?"

Unsure how to take those words, Dean narrowed his eyes. "Now you're just freaking me out," he commented slowly as he began watching his brother very carefully. Sure enough, now that he was sitting close enough, he caught a glimpse of what Sam was holding in his hands. Glistening in a matte silver color, it was a necklace of some sort. Now this wasn't the first time Dean noticed that particular new addition to his brother's inventory, but with Sam's hands covering most of it, he could see just as little of it as when it was half-hidden underneath ten layers of shirts as usual.

Following Dean's gaze, Sam heaved a soft sigh and decided it was as good a place to start as any. Without another word, he unfolded his hands and grabbed the chain rather than the pendant so that in lifting his arm, he could give Dean a good view of what it was attached to.

Even in the street lanterns' poor lighting, Dean recognized it for what it was - a golden ring.

His eyes widened.

Sam was _married_?

When the hell did that happen?

Just when Dean intended to ask for details, though, Sam twisted his hand to look at the necklace himself, giving his brother another angle to look at it.

And...

It wasn't just one ring, but _two_.

"Shit."

It did not take a genius to understand the meaning behind that. Given their dangerous lifestyle, it was a miracle Sam's relationship had held long enough for a marriage, but...hadn't he already lost enough?

"Sam," Dean croaked awkwardly, although he did not trust himself to find the right words anyway, "I'm sorry."

Tearing his gaze from the rings, Sam looked up to meet Dean's eyes briefly. "This," he explained quietly and leant forward, placing a soft kiss on the rings, before he rested his chin on his hands and closed his eyes, "is the best things that ever happened to me."

Contemplating those words, Dean kept a close eye on his brother. In that moment, Sam seemed tired, lonely and worryingly vulnerable, but at the very least, he had looked much worse after Jessica.

Maybe his new girl was even still alive.

Was she?

Hating himself once again for the stupid amnesia, for forgetting so much vital information, Dean tried finding anything helpful in his Swiss cheese of a memory.

But all he could recall were lone impressions - hazy pictures of his brother wearing that ring...with a huge smile on his face.

Dean's eyes widened. After everything they had gone through, he had doubted either of them would still even be capable of such an expression.

But Sam...

He had been happy, and he had been out...and he had been forced back into the life yet again?

Tired of all the speculation, Dean could no longer keep himself from asking, "What happened to her?"

Shaken out of his own reverie, Sam opened his eyes to meet his brother's worried gaze with a carefully neutral expression. It took a moment for him answer, though. "_She_," he began with a dry chuckle and looked away, "nearly got herself killed and forgot about our entire relationship."

Dean's eyes widened and his jaw dropped. "What?" That couldn't really mean what it sounded like, could it? It had to be a strange coincidence Sam's girl and brother both lost a good part of their memories - it had to be.

It was either that, or...

But there was no way for Dean to get romantically involved with his own brother, for crying out loud.

So why the hell was Sam looking at him like that?

"To make a long story short," the younger brother explained quietly, "we both got shot by a Cupid, and after a while..." He hesitated, but shrugged it off, "We just stopped fighting it."

Dean's mouth opened and closed again.

A Cupid?

Seriously?

Of all the crap possible, they had ended up falling victim to a freaking supernatural matchmaker? But - no!

"And it was a great decision," Sam added with a soft smile.

And just like that, any troubled thoughts were erased from Dean's mind. He had not seen Sam like that in a long time.

And...

* * *

_Looking around the victims' room, which was decorated with all kinds of pop culture memorabilia, he quickly found what he was looking for and pulled two small golden items out of a vitrine._

_Sam only understood them for what they were when Dean had already slipped one of the rings around his finger and the other one around his own. "Congratulations," the older brother grinned widely, "You're now Mrs Dean Winchester."_

_Torn between dismay and endearment, Sam failed to reply for a long time. Eventually, though, he got around to taking an actual look at the ring on his finger. "Seriously, Dean?" he asked as he recognized the writing and cited from memory, "One ring to rule them all, one ring to find them. One ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them."_

_"Fitting enough for a marriage, don't you think?" Dean replied with a shrug and turned to stride out of the room. When he grabbed Sam's hand in passing, his grin widened even further, "Come on now, I can't kiss the bride in a crime scene, now can I?"_

* * *

...and no matter how wrong it all sounded, Dean could not help but feel proud of the fact that in some warped kind of way...it had been _him_ to make Sam smile like that.

It didn't change the fact everything he had just heard was absolutely and utterly absurd, though. "Sam," he began after a long while with his gaze fixed at the pavement ahead, "if this is some kind of dream, or joke, or whatever..." He gulped, "then this isn't very funny."

Sam sighed in response. "Just another weird supernatural occurence that marked our lives," he replied surprisingly smoothly. "Listen, I'm not imposing anything on you. I told you so you _know_." Staring back at the chain in his hand, he sighed deeply. "As far as I'm concerned, the one this ring belongs to is out of my reach," he explained as he fastened the chain around his neck and hid the rings underneath his shirt. "It took a long time to stomach the first time around, so for the moment, just don't comment on it at all," he suggested and stood up at last, "Go ahead and have your merry way with...whoever." Sending Dean another _look_, he set off towards the motel room. "Just keep in mind that none of these women can beat what we already had."

Dean stared after his brother, but he did not manage saying anything at all.

It wasn't right - it couldn't be true.

Through some kind of cosmic joke, he had woken up to a world he no longer knew. The only constant that had not changed was his brother fighting at his side, and knowing that at least the most fundamental part of his life had stayed the same had helped Dean greatly when he had tried to adapt to the new situation.

Now, though, he got to find out that even that wasn't the case? That even his relationship to his freaking brother had twisted in some strange, confusing and absolutely immoral way?

Him and Sam, together, as anything more than brothers? He didn't even dare to think about it. The mere idea was so absurd it had never ever crossed his mind before.

Now, though? It was still absurd.

They were both straight, they were far too different for anything like it to work out. They were brothers, for crying out loud! So how the hell -

* * *

_Chuckling softly, Dean stared up at the starry sky. "And there I was thinking your drug-induced self had coaxed my easily-convinced self into a clichéd make-out session when it turns out we really just relished in nostalgia," he mused both in guilt and relief, speaking more to himself than to his brother, and he allowed himself to enjoy the view of a small town underneath the vast sky at last, "Then again, this is pretty amazing."_

* * *

Closing his eyes, Dean buried his face in his hands. So they'd been trying to fight it, but Sam, he -

* * *

_"I guess we are pretty awesome together, huh?" Sam grinned as he turned around on the bed and straddled his unsuspecting brother._

_Not that Dean minded, of course. As a matter of fact, he welcomed his brother's every movement. "Bitch, we're not awesome," he corrected gruffly and inhaled longingly when he felt Sam's hot breath on his neck, "We're fucking amazing."_

* * *

Groaning, Dean lowered his head even further. "You've got to be kidding," he croaked in sheer confusion. The memories that had suddenly returned to him were still fresh in his mind as if they had only happened the day before.

And he could no longer get his mind off the Sam he had witnessed there.

That was not the brother he had been fighting alongside to stop the devil.

That was his brother _happy_.

* * *

_Later_

It was only after another hour that he was shaken out of his reverie by the door of one of the motel's rooms opening and closing.

He was not suprised to see Sam standing there, leaning against the doorframe. His expression was a compassionate one, and in not moving closer, he seemed to understand Dean's inner conflict well enough. All he did was nodding towards their room with a simple question on his lips, "You coming in again?"

Dean stared back. He wouldn't mind going someplace warm, but as he looked at his brother standing there, all he could think about was how often they had -

* * *

_The door fell shut behind them, and neither Dean nor Sam had it in them to hold back much longer. Clothes were shed and tongues entwined. Before Dean knew it, anything that mattered was the hot skin under his touch and the sound of Sam's voice calling out-_

* * *

"Dean?"

Gasping guiltily, Dean crossed his eyes as he remembered his brother had asked him to come back inside.

"No," he said at once.

Sam's brows furrowed and Dean realized he must have sounded much harsher than intended.

But there was no way he could go anywhere near Sam right now, not without -

* * *

_"You'll get whatever you want later, alright?" Sam suggested softly as he carried Dean out of the vampire's nest._

_Dean's frown deepened, but he couldn't help being a bit intrigued by that offer. "Whatever I want?" he repeated incredulously. It was then that Sam arched an eyebrow at him and leant down to whisper four very quiet yet very concise words into his brother's ear._

_"Whatever you want, Dean."_

* * *

Breathing heavily, Dean got to his feet. Rather than returning to their room, though, he made a beeline for the car.

He could not be with Sam right now.

Rather, he had to get drunk.

Badly.

* * *

_Later_

He glared at his drink, but it did not exactly reply.

The blonde sitting next to him, however, did. "Maybe it's been there the entire time," she replied playfully, "Just like you and me. Do you even notice I'm flirting with you?"

Dean arched an eyebrow. Of course he'd noticed. Or maybe he had not. He was kind of busy getting drunk, but she was kind of the type of girl he'd usually pick up, too.

Of course, though, she was too busty.

And too blonde.

Too small.

Too frail.

She wasn't Sam.

Which was kind of the point why he'd come here in the first place, wasn't it?

But...he couldn't get himself to do it.

He couldn't get himself to be attracted to anything but his drink...and a certain someone he just couldn't allow himself to be attracted to.

Eventually, the time passed, and so did his drinks.

At one point, the girl got so frustrated she splashed her drink right into his face - at least that's how he explained how his clothes had gotten so wet.

He guessed he must have turned her down on purpose - the barkeeper was more pleasant company anyway.

Also, he had the right cup size.

He was kinda muscular, too.

Dean kind of liked the shade of his hair, even though it was too short.

But he was too small, too, which was a pity, really.

"You want me to call you a cab?" the barkeeper asked him at last.

Dean sent him a funny look and replied, "I could think of better ways to utilize that mouth of yours."

Not that he really noticed what happened after that.

Sooner or later, he was being talked to again, but he did not really listen.

Sooner or later, he found himself moving, but he did not really pay attention. It felt like he was not moving on his own accord, and a familiar voice nearby confirmed that suspicion.

"Dean," Sam's voice repeated a couple of times.

He was in trouble, wasn't he?

But somehow, he heard the Impala's engine starting.

It was a soothing sound that had him drift off to sleep disturbingly quickly.

Oh well, maybe he was not in that much trouble after all.

* * *

_The next day_

Drowsily, Dean opened his eyes, only to get blinded by the sheer brightness. Hadn't they just yesterday complained about the dimness of the room they had rented?

Forcing his eyes shut again, he released a groan.

Probably the room was just a badly lit as yesterday - it was just a hangover that was killing him.

"There's a bucket to your right," he heard Sam talking at a considerately low voice, "just in case."

Groaning in acknowledgement, Dean turned to his side, causing a wet cloth to slip off his forehead that must have been there the entire time. He groaned again.

Just how much had he had last night?

He tried falling asleep again for quite a while before realizing he was far too awake in spite of the pain in his skull.

Struggling to sit up, he squinted at his feet, forcing his eyes to slowly adapt to the relative brightness. When they finally did, he caught sight of the bucket Sam had helpfully placed there - and also of a cup of water and a sandwich on his nightstand that looked far too good to be true.

"Dude, you're a life saver," he gasped and tucked in right away. Munching like a starving man, he looked around to find Sam sitting at his laptop on the other side of the room.

Nodding in his brother's general direction before resuming whatever research he was doing, he did not look as pissed as Dean would have suspected. Then again, though...

Slowly but surely, Dean started remembering what had had him drinking that much in the first place.

Just like that, some romantic history had appeared between the two brothers, and Sam was acting as if nothing had happened.

Gulping, Dean downed the cup of water in one go. Drowning the awkwardness in alcohol might have helped last night, but he still had no idea what to do.

"There's lots of demonic omens a few towns over," Sam suddenly stated, "Looks like we did not get all of them. Once you're ready, we should get going."

Arching his eyebrows, Dean inhaled deeply. He had expected a scolding and a lengthy continuation of yesterday's talk, not this.

This was his job.

This was something he could handle.

- 1.3 Revelation: End -

* * *

**Note on FF Continuity:** In case you want to know more about how the relationship Dean forgot about came into being in the first place: that is covered in the first three chapters of my other fanfic "A Supernatural Infatuation". (Almost all of Dean's flashbacks in this chapter happened in that story.)

For now, thank you for reading and please drop a review!


	4. 1-4 Compromise

**1.4 Compromise**

_A few weeks later, with Dean_

Furrowing his brows, Dean stared at the scene before him. "I don't know about you," he mused as he glanced through the windows to the house of the most recent victim of their current case, "But this looks exactly like something good ole Gabe would have done."

Looking up from his notes, Sam could not help agreeing. "According to the neighbours, the vic was deadly afraid of cats," he summarized.

Finding at least a dozen pairs of cat eyes staring right back at him through the windows, Dean suppressed a sneeze and looked away quickly. "Having a thousand friggin cats appear out of friggin nowhere would give everyone a heart attack," he commented unhappily and cast a longing gaze towards the Impala. Sure enough, they had come to investigate the crime scene - but he had not exactly seen it coming no one had bothered taking away those freaking cats yet.

"So where does that leave us?" Sam asked, noting Dean's uneasiness in slight amusement, "We got a couple freaky accidents and no actual connection between the vics."

"Also, what does things like that?" Dean went on as he slowly but surely manoeuvred them back to where they had come from, "I mean, angels can, I guess, but I doubt they'd bother with this."

Frowning, Sam followed Dean without even noticing it. "We had a similar case about a year back," he explained, "Some freak took it upon himself to punish bad parents by sending their children's worst fears after them. Altogether, it boiled down to witchcraft."

Frowning, Dean searched through his still unsorted but halfway cosistent memory for a case that fit the description. Finally, it hit him with a grin. "That would be the one with the clowns, would it?" he asked innocently.

Sam sent him a look that might have killed a lesser man.

"So we'll scount out if they had some grocery store, bank accountant or fast food chain in common?" Dean suggested.

"It would have to be something they might have easily made enemies at," Sam countered, "Something like, a pub." Suddenly, an idea hit him, and he flipped through his notebook. "Bingo," he exclaimed with a triumphant grin and snapped the notebook shut, "All victims were alcoholics, but the last one only went to one pub in particular."

Dean's eyes lit up at the prospect at not having to face a hoard of cats after all. "Well, what are we waiting for?" he practically beamed and walked back to the Impala twice as fast.

When his brother sat down in the passenger's seat half a minute later, though, Dean got a feeling it wasn't going to be quite as easy as that.

"You remembered the case," Sam stated bluntly and refused to meet Dean's eye, fiddling with something in his pocket instead, "How much of it?"

Inhaling deeply, Dean prepared for the worst. "That glitter looked quite good on you," he replied simply, and with an innocent shrug. The lunatic at Plucky Pennywhistle's antics had been sadistically fun to him. But more importantly, judging by what had come back to him from that time - to the two of them, it had led to the best after-hunt sex to date. Heck, Dean had actually recalled the weird mixture of sugar, sweat and glitter on his taste buds at one point.

The problem was - ever since Sam had enlightened him on the new nature of their relationship, the memories might have returned to Dean, but neither brother had actually addressed the matter again.

Dean had not spoken much, but Sam seemed to understand what he was saying. "So?" he asked simply.

Just one word, one simple question. It could mean anything, but in that moment, there was no way not to accept it for what it truly meant.

_Are you ready to come back?_

Dean had prepared forever for this moment, but that did not mean he had ever decided what to do. He had accommodated to the flashbacks and grown to accept and even enjoy them. He had never thought it possible for his own brother to be quite as freaking sexy as that - but he had the proof seared right into his mind.

He had grown to accept the two of them had been more than brothers at one point, but that didn't mean it did not still feel absolutely surreal to him.

Sam's stare in that moment, on the other hand, was far too real and intense for his liking.

"Do we need to talk about this right now?" he asked at last. He was stalling for time and he knew it, but -

"Yes," Sam said simply.

So much for that.

Sighing deeply, Dean leant back and removed his hands from the wheel, seeing as they weren't going to drive anywhere for the moment anyway. "It's gotten better," he stated at long last, "With the memories, that is. With anything else, though..."

Looking away, he trailed off, unsure how to speak about something he hadn't even decided on yet.

Judging by his sigh, Sam understood well enough. "Not now," he asked at a flat voice, "or not ever?"

Dean closed his eyes. What kind of question was that? A justified one, granted, but he felt in no way capable to give a proper reply. "This ain't easy on me either, Sam," he replied with a light grimace, "I want you happy more than anything, but the man you want me to be – that just isn't me." Sam made a small noise that could mean anything, and the tension in the car intensified tenfold. Inhaling deeply, Dean tried to explain himself. "To me, you're my brother – but imagining anything beyond that, even recalling it, it just doesn't feel real."

A heavy silence fell, and Dean did not find it in him to look his brother in the eye. They were facing a fundamental problem, and he wasn't sure there was any way to just talk it out – not without them either hating or loving each other.

"So let me get this straight," Sam spoke at last at a voice that was neither angry nor sad but carefully neutral, "You accept Bobby's death without questioning it, but a functional relationship between the two of us is too surreal for you?"

Those words, albeit spoken quietly, cut the silence like a knife and made Dean flinch as if he had been physically hurt. "Sam," he countered quickly, "that's not what I said at all."

"Don't worry," his brother replied smoothly, "I got the gist of it."

Still keeping his gaze glued to the house on the other side of the road, Dean was mentally preparing for a lengthy lecture. He was not expecting the Impala's door to creak open. When he had turned his head around, his brother had already left the car.  
"Sam," he warned as he leant across to glare at his brother, "You made me talk about this, so don't you dare bitc–"

"I just recalled another possible lead on the case," Sam cut him off blankly and shut the door, "You keep checking out that pub, or its bartenders, or whatever." Grimacing, he shook his head. "I'll be there when I can." With that, he turned on his heels and walked off, leaving Dean to stare after him incredulously.

"Sam, this isn't over!" he called after his brother.

Halting briefly, Sam sent him another blank look. "Something has to change," he stated simply, "So if you can't do it, I'll have to."

* * *

_With Sam._

Travelling with Dean under these circumstances had become all but unbearable. At least, though, the job had them occupied enough not to notice the obvious imbalance in their relationship too often.

But still often enough to drive Sam crazy.

He understood Dean needed time, but had been months since the accident and weeks since he had told him about their relationship. From Sam's point of view, it had been far too long already.

He missed Dean – _his Dean_.

The one that had overcome his inner conflict and dared taking the next step. The one that had given Sam everything he had ever needed.

Now, he should probably be grateful he hadn't lost Dean completely in that stupid vampire case – and he was, really. But as his brother had so helpfully reminded him, the Dean Sam had was no longer the one he needed.

It had been alright back then, travelling and hunting together as brothers, but now that he had experienced what life could offer, Sam did not know whether he could go back to the old days – whether he could live without the kind of love he had grown so dependent on.

It was hard enough to act normally around his brother as it was. He doubted he could keep hunting alongside him much longer if things stayed the way they were. Heck, even in that moment, he was standing on a playground in the middle of suburbia staring at his phone rather than just dialling the damn number.

"You could've just told me the wife was your lead," he heard a familiar voice from next to him and nearly jumped out of his skin, "Would have saved me a lot of effort." He shrugged. "They didn't even have any decent beer in that pub."

Taking a deep breath, Sam turned his head to find Dean standing mere meters away. Never mind the near-heart attack. If Dean had gotten the intel on the witch's identity, Sam at least didn't have to call him anymore. "Then you know what we need to do," Sam summarized and glanced towards the witch's mansion, which was, ironically, pink and surrounded by flowers.

"Course I do," Dean nodded grimly as he stepped up behind his brother with an arched eyebrow, "The question is, do you?"

Furrowing his brows, Sam took the hint and checked his pockets. He had interrogated the witch earlier, granted, but she couldn't really have done anything...could she? Sure enough, though, all of his weapons were gone. Instead, he suddenly discovered a tiny bag at the bottom of his jacket's lining...

...and a sharp, excruciating pain in his back.

Sam's eyes widened as the phone dropped from his hand. "Dean?"

Blinded by pain, he tried stumbling forward – away from the agony, away from the knife, away from the thing that had never been his brother in the first place. But fake-Dean would not have it – wrapping his free arm around Sam's throat, he pulled him back again, twisting the knife ever so slightly.

"Don't worry," fake-Dean whispered into his ear in a morbidly affectionate voice, "it'll be over soon."

Squeezing his eyes shut, Sam stopped struggling and resumed searching his pockets instead. He already had the hex bag, he only needed –

"This is the better deal, though, isn't it?" fake-Dean purred, "It was either death or having your memories wiped, too, wasn't it?" His grin widened. "I'm sure Castiel would unders – "

His words died in his throat when the hex bag caught fire. Within a split second, the backstabbing version of Dean that Sam's own fears must have produced vanished into thin air, along with the hex he had fallen victim to.

The wound, on the other hand, felt just as real.

Sinking down to his knees, Sam found himself shaking. He was still breathing, and he might still be able to walk if he wasn't so incredibly shaken up, so the stab wound couldn't be as serious as it felt, but...

Just as the witch had intended, the hex had hit a spot much sorer than his back even in its current state.

On cue, the phone that had hit the pavement earlier started ringing.

'Lars Ulrich,' it said on the screen, and it took a moment and a laughable lot of effort for Sam to pick it up.

"Dude," he heard a gruff voice and he could not keep himself from smiling in spite of anything, "Please tell me you got something on your end. Nobody here knows anything, and the bartender's kinda freaking me out."

No matter what Dean was saying, hearing his voice consolidated Sam greatly. No matter whether lover or brother, the real Dean would never have voiced what the fake one had dared saying. And the real one was the one he was talking to right now. He loved the real one regardless of anything, and he loved hearing his voice. Prolonging the call couldn't hurt that much, could it? "So the bartender's not your type?" he joked softly, awaiting the response eagerly. No matter how Dean would react to the teasing, it would be nothing compared to his response to Sam's latest injury.

"Would you stop it already?" Dean sighed on the other end, "I was drunk, and I was friggin imagining you there, man."

Chuckling softly, Sam was strangely comforted by those words. So if he had just gone drinking with his brother that night, things would have gone so much easier? He doubted that – much like the first time around, Dean would never have forgiven himself for losing control like that. And Sam, well, he would have taken advantage of his brother's helplessness, which was not that much better. But knowing it had been him on Dean's mind when he had found him hitting on that bartender that night still felt strangely reassuring nonetheless.

"Listen, I know we hit it off about as poorly as it gets," Dean went on again, sounding as uneasy as he always did with this sort of conversation, "I mean, let's just get this case done and try again afterwards, alright?"

Clinging to the receiver, Sam wished Dean would just keep talking forever. Then again, though, there was a proud amount of blood streaming out of his back every second, so maybe his brother had a valid point. "Julia Simmons," he stated bluntly, "452 Privet Drive."

He could almost hear Dean's brows furrowing. "The first vic's wife?" the older brother drawled in confusion, "She's the witch, or what?"

"Yes," Sam replied simply.

The door of the Impala slammed shut. "I'll be right there," Dean announced as he started the engine.

Sam was afraid his brother would hand up right away. Thankfully, though, he didn't. Instead, he added one simple observation. "You got hurt."

Closing his eyes, Sam sighed softly. "I'm at a playground nearby," was all he added, for his brother did not need a confirmation anyway. Sam only ever stalled a conversation when something was wrong, and it came as no surprise that Dean knew.

His need to keep hearing his brother's voice in such situations, though, was something that had only developed along with their relationship. And no matter what it meant, he was so incredibly grateful to find Dean talking to him throughout the entire drive.

Before he knew it, he recognized a familiar pair of boots.

"I got you, Sammy," Dean whispered as he caught him in his arms.

And suddenly, things felt right again.

* * *

_With Dean._

"What the hell, man," Dean grumbled as he was sitting behind Sam and set the final stitch to a stab wound in his brother's back. Thankfully, though, whatever thing that bitch of a witch had sent after Sam had meant to bleed him out rather than kill him on the spot. Considering his worryingly pale complexion, it had done a decent job with that, but at least – and Dean did not even want to think about it – at least a long yet shallow cut was the only damage he had taken... "Just a bit further and it would have killed you, Sam," he stated bluntly as he covered the wound with a large plaster, "Actually, it would have killed anyone who isn't quite as much of a giant as you." He hated thinking about, let alone talking about the possibility of losing Sam at one point, but he had to get his message across.

He might have had a good reason, but altogether, Sam had been reckless. Again.

It hadn't been their first close call, but each was one too many.

As expected, Sam did not seem to mind that much. "I guess," he replied with a non-committal shrug, and immediately flinched in pain thanks to the motion.

Huffing, Dean caught him in his arms before he could topple off the bed. "I didn't give you any sedatives," he pointed out crossly, "And low blood-pressure is no excuse to be an ass. Act your age and just fucking call me as soon as you get hurt." He glared at the back of his brother's head, not that it would do much good.

"Yeah," Sam agreed loftily, but it was obvious he was not even listening – or maybe, well, he was probably listening to the sound of Dean's voice without hearing his words.

That at least explained why he was leaning into the accidental embrace so willingly as he eased himself into a position less painful but still somewhat comfortable in spite of the wound.

Propping himself up against the mattress with one hand while steadying his brother with the other one, Dean gritted his teeth.

Whatever the witch had done to his brother, she'd pay dearly.

Sam was so out of it he seemed to think he was once again with _his_ Dean – the past of his brother that would readily kiss him back.

Not that the new Dean wouldn't, per say, but that was an entirely different matter.

Regardless of which version of his brother he thought to be with, though, the sudden ease in Sam's posture calmed this Dean down, too.

For several minutes, they were just sitting there, warm against each other, left to their own devices. Dean couldn't even claim not to enjoy the comfort of the embrace. Before long, Sam took the hand still resting on his shoulder in his own, intertwining their fingers absent-mindedly.

Again, it was something so small but so openly affectionate Dean had seen a thousand times in his memories – but never actually experienced for real, at least not as far as he felt it.

And just for a moment, but certainly not for the first time, he felt a pang of jealousy towards his former self, who must have been able to enjoy those sensations so incredibly often.

It was a rare and precious moment, in which even silence was comfortable.

That silence, though, was ended eventually.

"Our lives are going to be short enough as it is," Sam mused as he kept playing with Dean's fingers forlornly before turning his head to meet his eyes, "So why do we waste our time with childish antics?"

Dean stared back, unable to respond – but also captivated by the view of his brother's face up close. He had seen it dozens of times through the looking glass that were his memories.

But this was something different.

This was real.

This was Sam's soul he could look right into, his pain, his fears, his wishes.

This was his body, warm, alive and breathing within Dean's arms.

And suddenly, all the affection for each other they must have felt back then became reasonable, palpable – real.

"You know what, Dean?" Sam whispered and chuckled softly as he leant even closer, "Screw what I said earlier. We're not living with a compromise any longer."

Enticed by the moment, the proximity and the sheer amount of need washing over him, Dean did not need to be told twice.

Their lips crushed against each other in one intense, demanding kiss, and Dean no longer knew why he had ever hesitated in the first place.

Out of anything he had ever done, this was one of the few things that felt absolutely right.

And it was about damn time, too.

* * *

They broke apart far too soon for Dean's liking, but then again, he did not mind returning to the comfortable embrace they had shared earlier. Rather than holding their combined weights by propping himself up against the mattress, though, he wrapped both his arms around his brother's torso and thus straightened just enough to properly hug him from behind.

Replying with a soft murmur, Sam leant into the touch. He was still shirtless due to the bandaging earlier, but again, Dean did not particularly mind the warm skin under his fingers.

On the contrary, tracing those chiselled outlines fascinated him greatly, and he certainly wondered what the rest of his brother's body would feel like.

But...

He did not exactly intend to take the next step that quickly.

Not that it was the next step per say, considering they had technically been at there for a long time.

In any case, Sam had been hurt, which was all the excuse Dean needed to hold him right there for another while.

That did not mean his hands had to stop exploring the territory that was both new and familiar to him. Finally, his right hand discovered something he had been looking for all along. Solid and round, they were attached to a chain around Sam's neck and felt as warm in his hand as his brother's skin had.

"Dean," Sam objected quietly as he placed his hand on his brother's, squeezing softly as if he was telling him to let the past stay in the past.

It had been Dean to point it out, but obviously, they had both come to realize he would not return to who he used to be. In not returning his memories right away, Castiel had tried keeping Dean's mental and emotional landscapes from growing asynchronous, but in the end, that's what must have happened anyway.

Still, as he was holding Sam close and felt so incredibly good doing so, Dean could not help appreciating the moment.

He might never be the same again, but, hell, he wanted his ring back.

And so he led Sam's hand upward and kissed it softly.

In the meantime, though, he opened the latch of the chain and caught the rings in this hand.

Sam stiffened at once, but before he got to say anything, Dean slipped their respective rings around their fingers. "I won't say we should go on where we left off," he whispered and nudged Sam's hair, "But you're right, man. Let's make it count where it matters."

Chuckling softly, Sam loosened his posture and held Dean's hand tightly. "I never asked for more," he whispered shakily and leant into the embrace again, "Thank you, Dean."

- 1.4 Compromise: End -

* * *

Notes: So they got back together at last. :)

Funnily enough, the first part of the story (that is, this fanfic) isn't going to become that much longer - there is only one more chapter to go. (and then another 20..30k words on the sequel, where things are going to get interesting)

Anyway, I'll try adding the next chapter tomorrow, but, well... I've hesitated for months to put this up, and so little feedback is a bit of a statement in itself. I'd be really grateful for reviews, follows, favorites or any life sign at all, just so I know this time-consuming editing process is worth the effort after all. xI

On that note, special thanks to those who bothered following this! An regardless of my whining, thank you all for reading this far!


	5. 1-5 Together

**1.5 Together**

_Some weeks later, with Dean_

Waking up from a light slumber, Dean buried his face in his pillow. He couldn't even claim he was well-rested, not with the sheer intensity of his dream still fresh in his mind.

It hadn't been a T-rated dream.

But the most unsettling, and simultaneously most arousing aspect to it was the fact that the smut he had been dreaming about...had never been a mere dream in the first place.

He might not have awoken fully yet, but he was pretty damn certain that Sam had mere two short months ago – that the two of them had gone as far as to –

Groaning, he dug his face deeper into the pillow. Of course he had, on an abstract level, been aware of their non-hunting late-night activities. He wasn't even surprised his brother had gone along with some of his dirtiest fantasies.

The thing was...before that dream, or memory, or whatever, he would have deemed it physically impossible for Sam to _bend like that_.

The sheer thought of what he had just seen in his dream excited him anew, and he released another breath, trying to rationalize his hormone-driven thoughts.

For all he cared, he felt like using the trump card called amnesia to make Sam bend just like that once more.

But he couldn't, not now.

He should have made himself accept his luck much sooner. Then, at least, he would have gotten to enjoy his brother's strength and agility full-force.

But as the stab wound was healing disturbingly slowly, Sam's overall condition put a natural limit to both their hunting trips...and other activities.

Then again, moving at a slow pace, Dean at least got the opportunity to adapt. So maybe it was good like that.

No, strike that.

It wasn't good.

He should never have let Sam get hurt like that in the first place.

On that notion, he should never have hurt him by pushing him away too.

"You still pouting?" he heard his brother addressing him from the other side of the room and looked up to find him sitting at his computer, just as he had hours earlier when Dean had dropped on the bed to get some well-deserved rest.

"You still researching?" the older hunter countered lamely and forced himself to sit up at last, "We know what we're hunting and how to kill it, so what more do you want?"

Grimacing lightly, Sam stared at the screen. "Just checking some details," he replied, heaved a sigh and shut down the computer at last, "But you're probably right." Getting off the chair, he stretched as if he had barely moved throughout the last hours – which was probably true.

Naturally, his brother's movement got Dean thinking again, about the dream, but also about the more recent matter at hand. "How's the back?" he asked conversationally.

"Better, I guess," Sam offered with a shrug as he walked over and sat on the other side of the bed, "but if you want more details you'll have to find out yourself." The allure of the offer was lost in the yawn that followed immediately after, but Dean did not particularly mind. Leaning across the bed, he reached for Sam's shoulders and pulled him down to lie on the mattress.

"I dreamt about you," he offered simply and shuffled closer as he unbuttoned his brother's shirt with practised ease.

Sam's lips curled into a tiny smirk. "So I heard," he replied and arched an eyebrow in challenge, "Mind moaning my name again?"

He didn't even get to say anything else as Dean trapped him in an eager upside-down kiss. Only when they ran out of air at last, he got a response to his teasing.

"Earn it," Dean rasped, and whatever unfortunate soul had rented the room next to theirs got to hear a lot more than moaning that night.

* * *

_Several weeks later, with Dean_

They were sitting in a diner in a comfortable kind of silence Dean enjoyed quite a lot.

He also enjoyed the view of the state's best cheeseburger sitting on a plate right in front of him. Taking in the wonderful smell, he held it like a treasure as he led it to his mouth, looking forward to an explosion of sheer awesomeness on his taste buds.

"You ever thought about retiring?"

He nearly choked on his cheeseburger. _"What?"_

Sitting opposite him, Sam was poking around in his salad wearily. Of course nobody would be enthusiastic about having rabbit food for dinner, but _that_ was a new level of lethargy.

"Sure, we save a life every once in a while," Sam elaborated with that same miserable expression on his face, "But more often than not, we almost die trying."

Dean opened his mouth to protest, but he had never gotten around to chewing down his first bite of the burger.

"I know you like the thrill of the hunt," Sam went on in the meantime and frowned, "hell, even I do. But I like simply being with you just as much." Giving up on the salad at last, he put his fork aside and inhaled deeply. "So maybe we were never particularly successful in living a normal life. You don't just get out of the life like that, but..." Grimacing, he looked into Dean's eyes, "It wouldn't hurt to step back a bit and take a week off every once in a while to enjoy what we've got."

Chewing down at last, Dean arched an eyebrow at his brother, wondering just where that idea was coming from. "You got a Justin Bieber concert you wanna go to?" he asked.

Sam rolled his eyes and replied in exasperation, "More like an ass to kick."

Chuckling softly, Dean tilted his head. "Getting kinky in public, are we?"

Sam narrowed his eyes. "You don't need to evade the topic," he clarified in slightly annoyance, "A simple no would've been fine."

Dean met his eyes again. "But it's not a no," he replied earnestly and set down the burger at last, "Believe it or not – I agree." He chuckled dryly. "We haven't got a pressing case right now anyway, so let's just go, I dunno, glamping."

Shrinking away, Sam shook his head, "Hell no."

"Or anything else, really," Dean went on insistently, "You're right – life's too short to ignore stuff like that, so let's just take any opportunity we get." Grinning reassuringly, he targeted his cheeseburger again. "Like this baby, for example," he stated and took another heavenly bite. "And who knows? Once Kevin finds out how to kick that demon scum off the face of the earth once and for all, maybe we'll get that proper retirement after all." Of course, he was busy wolfing down his meal, but he did not miss his brother's nonverbal reaction.

Albeit hesitantly, Sam was smiling.

So maybe their relationship enabled both of them to release all kinds of stress and tension in a completely non-destructive way.

But in truth, to Dean it were moments like these that made it truly worth it.

He loved to see his Sammy smile.

* * *

_Several weeks later, with Dean_

Entering their motel room after his brother, Dean slammed the door shut with unnecessary force.

Well, it was necessary _to him_ – he was furious, and Sam's unnerved sigh did not help easing that anger.

"It couldn't be helped, Dean," Sam insisted as he flung his duffel bag on the couch, "It was either the hound or us, and even better, we got the Trial completed nonetheless."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "_You did_," he growled and pointed at himself, "I didn't – and that was the deal. I take the Trials, you back me up."

Shaking his head, Sam huffed in response, "Guess we'll have to do that the other way around then."

Cursing under his breath, Dean poured himself a glass of whiskey and downed it in one go. "It was my idea, we do it my way," he insisted darkly, "We'll find another hellhound and I'll kill it – then we'll talk."

Releasing another annoyingly exasperated sigh, Sam shook his head fiercely. "We're working as one anyway," he clarified through gritted teeth, "What difference does it make?"

Laughing humorlessly, Dean turned on his heels before stomping over to physically stand up to his brother – which did not work all that well thanks to their height difference, mind you. "What difference does it make?" he repeated indignantly. Barking out a laugh, he ran a hand through his hair. "It makes all the difference, Sam!" he exclaimed bitterly, "What does it take to make you understand I am supposed to look after you?"

Eyes widening in disbelief, Sam lowered his head. "Seriously?" he asked and stepped back a bit as he lowered his voice. "Whatever happens to you hits me a thousand times harder than if it happens to me," he countered evenly, "so by your own reasoning, you are looking after me by just letting me do this."

Gaping openly, Dean did not believe his own ears. "I'm not risking your life for this," he warned heatedly.

"And I'm not risking yours," Sam countered, "Neither of us is going to die on this." As most of his annoyance faded, his voice grew quiet. "We just have to keep looking after each other. If there's just the tiniest indication that this is going in the wrong direction, then we'll just have to..." He grimaced. "...stop."

Furrowing his brows, Dean took a moment to stomach that offer. Finally, he inhaled deeply and leant menacingly close. "I'm not saying that I agree with this, Sam," he warned and narrowed his eyes. "This is far from over, but for now, you're going to tell me _everything_ - every change the Trials did to you." He gritted his teeth as he grabbed his brother's collar for stress. "Every light show on your arm, every bit of pain you feel, every freaking itch on your skin – _everything_."

Arching an eyebrow, Sam chuckled dryly. "You want to know about every itch on my skin?" he challenged and leant down at last with his voice dropping to a mere whisper in Dean's ear, "I can enlighten you on that."

"The fuck, Sam," Dean growled in disbelief and tried backing away on principle, but Sam's arms had wrapped themselves around him at one point and were firmly holding him in place – which, in turn, only infuriated him further. "What the hell is wrong with you? We're not done here."

"You're not done – I am," Sam corrected smoothly as he pulled their bodies closer together, making Dean painfully aware of his brother's as well as, confusingly enough, his own aroused states. "But since you insist, you wanted to know what it takes to make me understand," Sam whispered on with his breath tingling Dean's ear, "Well, some _attention_ might be a good start."

Dean felt his own breath accelerating at those words, and all of a sudden, his agitation mixed with something else. Without any further warning, he pushed all his weight against his brother and effectively slammed him against the dresser as he peeled those arms off himself and kept them in an iron grip.

"You want _attention_?" he growled in disbelief as he pushed himself further against his brother to stress his point as he was fully intending to deny him any release for the following weeks. But as he took in the sight of Sam at his mercy, felt the heat running through his own body and noticed himself shaking in anticipation, he realized that the damage had already been done anyway.

They were both too aroused to think straight anymore, and as he crushed their lips together, he no longer cared, either.

* * *

_Several weeks later, with Dean_

"I wish to wed you before God."

Sam and Dean, both occupied with some cheap fast-food when Castiel had arrived in their midst, dropped their plastic cutlery. "What?" they asked in unison.

"As far as I am aware," Castiel explained matter of factly as he pulled a chair over to sit with them, "the rings you are wearing are merchandise and have never been part of a wedding ceremony."

Dean furrowed his brows. "And why exactly does that matter?" he demanded slowly as his gaze travelled to his brother, "Sam, this never bothered you before. Seriously, you hit the menopause or something? If you want an actual wedding, you should have just told me."

With every word Dean spoke, Sam's frown grew more incredulous. "I never said anything like this," he clarified quickly, "I called Cas for help, granted." He met his brother's eyes. "Help with the Trials, Dean," he stated. Suddenly, his eyes widened and his head whirled back to Cas. "Wait a second, is this connected? How would a wedding..." He trailed off, thinking as he began to get the idea.

Dean, watching his brother intently, was absolutely lost. What he did understand, though, was the fact that they could not continue the trials as they were. The signs had already shown after the first trial, but, as much as he hated to see it, the second one had drained Sam so much it became obvious the last one would be final in more ways than one.

He hated giving up their one cheat code agains the spawns of hell – but if it meant losing Sam, he would rather keep fighting until the end of his days. Unless they found some kind of workaround, the trials were no longer an option.

So what the hell were Sam and Cas talking about?

"In sharing the bond of marriage, you become, in certain ways, one before God," Castiel explained, "It is not known to many, yet a married couple is indeed physically bonded." He tilted his head and specified his statement, "at least in such a way that it is possible for you to share the burden of the trials – and take them in turn."

Sam's eyes widened, and so did Dean's.

"As they say, a problem shared is a problem halved," Castiel finished his speech with a nod, "As such, I offer to be your priest."

"Wait a second," Sam interrupted, raising his hands as he stared at Cas through narrowed eyes. "This is great and all, but doesn't that mean it'll just kill us both?"

"It will reduce the damage done to you," Castiel explained matter-of-factly, "Which, in this case, means you will be drained and possibly hurt, but you will survive. Both of you will."

Sam took a deep breath, but Dean had already made his decision. "Well, what do you say?" he asked with a sudden grin on his face and patted his brother's shoulder affectionately as he got up with renewed determination.

"Go grab your wedding dress, Sammy. I'm gonna cure myself a demon."

* * *

_A week later, with Dean_

_Dun-dun, dun-dun, dun-dun._

Inhaling deeply, Dean grumbled as the noise of his own breathing obscured what he was really willing to hear. Lying in Sammy's arms with his head resting against his brother's chest, he kept listening to his heartbeat.

Sam was alive.

Mere hours ago, they had turned that bastard Crowley human and thus completed the trials. At long last, there was not a single demon walking the earth. Not any longer, and never again.

It had been a hell of a show, and more importantly...

Sammy had survived it.

Due to their new bond, he looked even worse than after the second trial, but it was also due to that bond that Dean had been able to take the majority of the blow in the first place.

As a result, here they were, lying on their shared bed in the bunker and feeling worse for wear.

But they had survived it.

If that was what it took for them to recover, Dean wouldn't mind to just keep lying there, living off canned ratios for weeks.

Sammy was right at his side, and this was their retirement after all, wasn't it?

He'd be damned if they hadn't deserved it, too.

"Any word from Cas?" Sam suddenly asked, and Dean wondered whether he had ever even been physically able to talk as quietly as that.

But it would get better – eventually.

"He doesn't respond," Dean explained, "Either the angel trials worked out...or they went horribly wrong."

"I see," Sam acknowledged the information and chuckled dryly, "It's not as if we'd be of much help like that, huh?"

"I guess so," Dean agreed grimly. But for the moment, he just couldn't be bothered with the rest of the world. "Let's just let the others take care of things for a while," he spoke and moved out of his embrace to sit up at last, "We're retired now, Sam." Staring at his brother's eyes, he reached out to run his fingers through Sam's hair and turned his own expression into a predatory grin. "And I have been looking forward to that retirement far too much already."

And just like that, he leant forward, and he was all over Sam again.

* * *

_A week later, with Dean_

A week had passed, and both brothers had returned to moderate health.

That did not keep them from lying awake in bed for hours in the morning, simply staring at each other.

It was like a game with unspoken rules – whoever ruined the moment first lost.

This time, it was Sam.

It wasn't so much the fact he had at one point reached out to caress Dean's cheek – it was his voice, back to its normal volume, that cut the silence.

"If you're not in the mood for a chick flick moment," he warned with a soft chuckle, "Say so right away."  
Frowning, Dean tilted his head into the pillow. "Try me," he challenged with a sly grin.

Smiling affectionately, Sam leant over to place a gentle kiss on Dean's forehead. "I don't even know how to say this," he spluttered as he brushed his thumb along his brother's jaw line, "You're...gorgeous."

"You're welcome," Dean grinned and laid his hand on top of his brother's forearm, squeezing softly, "I love you too, man."

He could feel Sam's smile against his forehead. "It's not just love, Dean," Sam explained, struggling once again with his phrasing, "I adore you, man."

Dean furrowed his brows, but he found himself, for once, at a loss of words.

"Back then, you taught me how to survive," Sam whispered softly, "And now you taught me how to live." Still smiling he kissed his brother's forehead once again. "You're my hero, man, in so many ways, and I can't, I just can't help but be grateful."

Still, Dean didn't know what to say. Emotional moments had never been his forte anyway, but as he was lying entangled with his brother, his lover, replying with a needy kiss came almost automatically.

"Sammy," he rasped as a late response, "You're the best thing that ever happened to me."

* * *

_A week later, with Dean_

Another week passed before they got back on the road. Physically, they still had not recovered fully yet, but mentally – very much so.

Until that moment, much had gone wrong in their lives, but in turn, much more had gone right for once.

In shutting the gates of hell, they had paid their debt to the world. From that point, they felt absolutely free to do whatever they chose.

Not that they could really give up hunting once and for all, not as long as there were still all kind of monsters running around, ruining people's lives. Also, they still had to take care of whatever had happened to Castiel and his feathered friends. But even that they only did because they chose to – not because they felt the responsibility to, and that made all the difference.

Breathing freely, they resumed doing what they were good at.

Not because it felt like the right thing to do – but because they felt right doing it.

Together.

_1.5 Together - End_

* * *

**_- PART ONE - _**

**_- Days Enchanted: End -_**

* * *

**Notes:** So, well, there we are. Sam and Dean arrived at the happy end at last.

_...didn't they?_

As mentioned before, this story had two versions - a short and a long one. With this chapter, we've finished the short, fluffy one. After all, Sam and Dean got each other and things won't get any better than that.

As a matter of fact, things will spiral downward pretty quickly after this, so if you want to stick to that happy ending, you'll want to stop reading right here.

To everyone else: along with the drama, things are going to get more intriguing, for Dean only _thinks_ he's amnesic - but he's actually stuck in a Dschinn's elaborate illusion...and the Sam he falls in love with is a part of that.

So yes, he is going to lose _his_ Sam at one point.

I'll probably end up uploading the remaining story in larger chunks, after I gathered enough, well, motivation, just so I can get this off my stack.

So, well, for now I'll leave it at that and would like to thank you again for reading this far. Just - please note that feedback is the fuel that keeps us writers going, so please leave a review if you liked this, disliked this, noted some plot holes or want to read on badly enough to bother reaching for the keyboard ;) Thank you!


	6. 2-1 Interlogue

**Notes: **So here we are - with much love to SamSam, Char and Dark Lilith87 for saving my enthusiasm with their kind words :)

I decided to add the second part here after all, so anybody who only wanted the short version should stop reading here.

To those who've been reading this story before: I altered the title and summary to fit the full story and added the warnings in the first chapter, but to make sure, here once again:

Welcome to the **long version (Parts One and Two)**, in which Dean loses his Sammy and gets back to the real one in breaking free from the illusion.  
(_Tags:_ Dschinn, illusion, hurt and lonely Dean, confused Sam, alternate batcave)  
(_Warning:_ the long version will contain a character death that's somewhat temporary but not quite)

I like the layering on this one quite a lot, and I hope, you will, too!

* * *

**PART TWO**

**Disenchanted**

* * *

**2.1 Interlogue**

_With Sam, 2011_

As the stars were shining brightly in the sky, only the sound of cicadas chirping disrupted the silence of a peaceful summer evening.

The motel room offered a small yet cosy balcony that was nothing short of perfect for a good, old-fashioned beer after work.

Altogether, it might have become a nice evening.

But the hunt had gone awry, and so had the subsequent argument.

"Dean!"

Storming out of the motel room as soon as they had entered it, the older hunter refused to even acknowledge his brother's reasoning. Now, Sam could certainly relate to Dean's fury – hell, he'd probably react just as badly in his brother's situation – and he was confident it would subside after a good night's sleep and an extra large cheeseburger.

The real problem was, the injury he had taken earlier couldn't wait an entire night. He had already lost enough blood to feel slightly dizzy as it was, but he could barely reach around his shoulder far enough to treat the cut himself.

Then again, being the helpful bastard he was, Dean had promised not to help him anyway, so for better or for worse, Sam he no other choice but to bite the bullet and give it a try.

Needless to say, he almost passed out a couple of times.

He hadn't done such a poor suturing job since he was eight, too. But on the pro side – he got it done at last, and hoped dearly that the atrocity he had just produced would hold his skin together long enough for new tissue to grow.

It didn't seem that reliable to him, but as long as he kept his arm in a sling, it should be alright.

Sighing, he rolled a couple of bandages around his shoulder, shrugged back into his shirt and carefully got to his feet at last. There was a triangular bandage in the Impala's trunk he could use for the sling, and besides, it was as good an excuse as any to check up on Dean.

When the chilly morning air hit his face as soon as he left the room, he found the Impala parked where they had left it, but his brother was nowhere to be found.

Even if he had gone to blow off steam elsewhere, there was no way Dean would go anywhere without his car.

"Dean?" Sam called across the parking lot, but didn't receive an answer. Alarmed in an instant, he reached for the gun in his waistband as he approached the car carefully.

But there was nobody around, neither alive nor dead, neither friend nor foe. Except for the fact Dean must've gone somewhere without his car, nothing about the scene was out of the ordinary.

And then Sam discovered his brother's phone lying on the ground.

_"Fuck."_

2.1 Interlogue: End


	7. 2-2 Loss

**2.2 Loss**

_With Dean, 2013_

"What are you doing?" Dean asked as he found Sam sitting at the laptop at strange hours in the middle of the night and stared at the screen by hugging him from behind. "Is that..." he drawled incredulously, "an essay on griffins?"

Smiling softly in welcome, Sam tilted his head to lean it gently against Dean's chest. "We got rid of the demonic part, but there's still lots of evil creeping around the world," he explained, "Considering we're not taking that many cases anymore, I thought it would be a good idea to properly catalogue our experiences so other hunters can make use of them."

Dean arched an eyebrow. "How noble of you," he commented as he rested his chin on the top of his brother's head.

He didn't see it, but he knew Sam was rolling his eyes at this point. "I get it, I get it," rhe younger hunter sighed, "You found another case to tackle?"

Dean grinned. "Just a small one, nothing big," he explained as he pulled over a newspaper he had dropped on the table the night before, "Wanted to ask you out on this tomorrow, but as we're already at it..."

Sam took a moment to read the article in question and finished with a shrug. "Yeah, looks like our kind of case," he agreed, "We can go in the morning."

"Atta boy," Dean grinned and moved slightly to whisper in his brother's ear, "Anyway, you coming to bed now?"

Sam sighed. "Let me just finish the paragraph, Dean," he spoke in slight impatience, "I know you think this is a waste of time, but then again, we _are_ legacies to the men of letters."

Dean opened his mouth to protest, but it took a moment for any words to come out of it. "I never said it was a waste of time," he pointed out with a frown and chuckled softly, "Actually, it's a great idea." His voice dropped to a raspy whisper. "As long as we get some action, too."

Again, Sam rolled his eyes and heaved a sigh. _"One more paragraph, Dean."_

* * *

_Later_

"Looks like your average vampire to me," Dean summarized with a final glance at the three victims in the morgue before looking at his brother, "You think there's a nest nearby?"

"Probably." Shrugging, Sam checked his notes. "All three victims were tourists," he explained, "last seen in a roadhouse just outside town."

Nodding, Dean set off towards the door. "Then let's start looking there," he announced, but he was startled to find Sam not following right after him.

"Hey," the younger brother warned carefully, "Don't you think this is a bit too...straightforward?"

Blinking, Dean furrowed his brows. "What do you mean?"

"Most vamps we met lately were more careful than that," Sam explained uneasily, hesitated and dismissed his objection by shaking his head, "Let's just...not enter their hunting ground carelessly."

Dean's frown deepened, but he did not ask Sam to elaborate, either.

It was obvious the vamps had set out a trap of some kind around that roadhouse, but that was just it. That trap was set to catch them new food, not a couple of well-trained hunters.

After all, that was how the family business worked in the first place. Once they entered the scene, the predator would become the prey, and it would be no different this time around.

So why did Sam worry?

Since his brother had dismissed the matter before he had, Dean gave it no further thought.

In retrospective, though...

Mere hours later, he wished he had bothered listening.

In tracking down those vampires, they hadn't just run into a nest.

It was a damn beehive.

Sure enough, they had managed ganking about ten vamps or so without even getting noticed, but then all hell broke loose.

Before they knew it, they were cornered in a room with two entries, which left Sam defending the northern door while Dean chopped off heads down south.

Dean couldn't even deny ganking vamps with such a high frequency didn't get his blood boiling. But then, his luck ran out on him.

For the first time that night, he missed a vamp's throat by inches. That, in turn, got him flung against the fireplace at the far end of the room.

His head hit the stone hard, and as he crashed down on the ground, he was seeing nothing but black and white for a couple of seconds.

Or was it a couple of minutes?

"Dean!"

Sure enough, he heard yells soon after, accompanied by multiple sounds of metal cutting through flesh. Forcing his eyes open, he tried struggling back to his feet.

But it was only when he felt a familiar weight on top of him that his eyes registered the sight of Sam up close – gorgeous, breathless, _worried_.

"Dean," his brother urged quietly, "Dean, are you okay?"

Dean tried concentrating, but found it rather hard to do so. Sam's voice was great to hear, but he was even more confused by the fact that the yells he had heard a moment ago had just died down like that.

"The battle's over," Sam informed him quietly as if he could read his thoughts, "they're all dead." He grimaced slightly and the fear returned to his voice, "What about you? Dean, are you hurt?"

Blinking, the older hunter finally considered the question. He still felt dizzy and slightly sore, but altogether, it was only Sam's body on his own holding him down. "I hit my head," he reported simply, "It's not that bad."

A genuine smile spread on Sam's face, and as he kept hovering above Dean by propping himself up with his elbow, he affectionately leant down to rest his forehead against his brother's. "Good," he whispered breathlessly, "that's great."

"What about you?" Dean asked and tried shifting, but as he was still lying on top of him in a rather awkward position, Sam did not budge.

It was enough to get Dean worried, too, but from his rather limited point of view, he could not see much at all.

At long last, still enjoying the closeness rather obviously, Sam bothered replying, "Please don't get mad."

Dean's breath hitched, and his horrified gaze travelled from his brother's pleading eyes to whatever awful truth he would see once he craned his neck enough.

But Sam grabbed his chin, gently directing it back for his brother to keep eye contact. "Don't look down," was all he said before he caught his brother's lips with his own.

So slow, so weak, yet so incredibly longing, it was a kiss unlike any they had shared before.

It screamed of despair, and it tasted like blood.

Dean's mind went blank when he finally understood it for what it was.

A goodbye kiss.

"You'd think vampires aren't that skilful with machetes," Sam offered weakly as he finally rested his entire weight on Dean, "but 'm pretty sure they hit some vital organs." His voice broke just as his brother's heart did, but he spoke on nonetheless. "Cas isn't answering, and I don't feel much anymore, so I have no idea how much longer – " He trailed off, unable to phrase what he feared to be true.

"Sammy."

Breathing heavily, Dean finally found it in him to wrap his arms around his brother's head and torso, but it only made him tremble in pain.

"Sammy," he croaked and let the tears run freely as he pulled his brother close out of sheer despair, _"don't."_

Sam inhaled sharply, but he barely found the strength to shift into a more comfortable position. "I'm so sorry, Dean," he whispered as he shakily buried his face in the crane of his brother's neck, "I love you so much."

Suddenly, Dean found himself unable to even breathe, but he had no other choice but to somehow make his voice work in spite of it. "I love you too."

He felt Sam smiling against his neck, and terrifyingly, he felt him fading, too.

"Thank you, Dean," his brother whispered hoarsely, "For everything."

"Don't thank me, man," Dean all but pleaded, stroking his brother's hair desperately, "Just don't die on me." He released a sob, but Sam no longer reacted to his words or actions.

He no longer could.

He no longer_ was_.

And from one moment to the other, Dean's world lost all its colours.

* * *

_Some days later_

A used coffee mug.

A small notebook.

A pencil that needed sharpening.

A few pages of the first draft of a monster encyclopedia.

A crossroads box that could no longer be used.

A bowl filled with burnt ingredients that had failed to do as they should.

A single golden ring.

Dean stared at them for what felt like an eternity. He wasn't in pain, he wasn't in denial, he was as numb as he could get.

He had tried everything.

_Everything._

No spell worked, no angel ever answered.

No matter how much he tried, he had no way to return the life to the unmoving body lying in the bed they had shared so many beautiful days in.

Burying his face in his hands, he sunk onto the chair his brother had last occupied less than two weeks ago.

But...it couldn't end there, could it?

Had he arrived at the end of the lane at last?

If so – if Sam would never return to his side – then Dean was left with no other option but to seek him out personally, did he?

After all, to him his own life had already ended when his brother had taken his last breath.

But that was just it – Sam had died to protect Dean, and as such, his life was the most precious thing he still held.

Worse yet, Sammy would be angry once he found his brother joining him in the afterlife out of his own will rather than a natural death.

Altogether, Dean was left with no other choice but to keep fighting – to honour his brother's sacrifice by using the time that was still left to him by doing what he was best at anyway.

The demons had gone, the angels were minding their own business, and yet there were still large amounts of supernatural abominations left to be hunted down.

And Dean was awfully bad at dying anyway.

* * *

_A week later_

He kept seeing ghosts of the past.

Cursing under his breath, Dean tossed another shovel's worth of earth out of the grave. "Damn it, this is way beyond six feet already," he grumbled and thrust the shovel into the ground. Wiping the sweat off his forehead, he looked up at the ground above, "You mind taking over?"

As he kept staring at the rim of earth that surrounded the hole he was digging, he fully expected to find a familiar head peeking over the edge any moment, or at least to hear a comment like, "You're either getting incredibly lazy or incredibly old, dude."

But neither happened, and it took a full minute for Dean to realize that he would not get the reaction he was waiting for ever again.

Not in this lifetime.

Inhaling shakily, Dean buried his face in his dirtied hands.

He had forgotten it – again.

Sammy was gone, and he was alone.

What was he trying to accomplish again?

He might be saving an entire village by taking out that ghost, but fighting the good fight had never felt as futile.

Doing the right thing was far from right without Sammy at his side.

2.2 Loss: End


	8. 2-3 Return

**Notes: **Please note that the latest update covers chapters 2.1 to 2.3 respectively 6-8.

* * *

**2.3 Return**

_With Dean, some weeks later  
_

Slowly but surely, he took care of a werewolf, a shifter and a couple of vampires. Rarely any of those hunts had run smoothly. After gaining a couple of scratches, a bullet to the side and what he assumed to be a new concussion, he could not claim to be in good shape. Again, though, a decent overall condition was not something he expected to ever achieve again, so he simply kept going.

Slowly but surely.

Occasionally, he met with other hunters, mostly accidentally. Some of them, he already shared a bit of a history with, others he had never seen before.

Much to his dismay, the news of Sam's passing had spread like a wildfire, and, out of pity, awe or sheer gratefulness for the Winchesters saving the world more than once, virtually any hunter he talked to offered to help him out.

Dean refused every single one of them.

He didn't need their pity. He didn't need some other hunter.

He needed Sam, and he'd be damned if he ever allowed anybody else to even try to replace him.

In travelling alone, he at least got to honour his brother's memory properly.

He might have lost the best thing he had ever had.

But Sam was always on his mind, and when Dean fell asleep at night, he would see him in his dreams.

Sometimes, he would relive a fond memory, like the one glorious day when they had retired from the life.

_"Dean..."_ Sammy would murmur into his ear, a silent promise in his voice.

Sometimes, he would dream of some menial thing that had been part of their routine, like the way Sam's calm breathing deepened just before he woke up in the morning.

_"Dean,"_ Sam would greet him a moment after with a sleepy smile.

Sometimes, his mind would process his more recent hunts in having Sam speak out his own suspicions for him.

_"Dean!"_ Sam would call out to him, his handsome features distorted in worry.

As he vaguely felt himself falling, Dean realized this dream had to belong to the last category and mentally prepared himself for whatever disconnected stray thoughts were about to come his way.

Not that he normally paid them much attention.

"Dean, can you hear me?" Sam urged, "Please answer, dammit!"

Caught in his brother's arms as they both sank to the ground, feeling incredibly weak for whatever reason, Dean found himself unable to process any information that were not directly linked to Sam – such as whatever situation his dream had gotten him into this time.

But he couldn't help it.

Sam's embrace was so warm.

His voice, phrasing whatever words, sounded so amazing.

He smelled so wonderfully intense.

And damn it – Dean couldn't stop staring at his brother as he seemed to be saying something in increasing despair.

"Dean, if you hear me just nod or something," Sam all but pleaded as he struggled to pick them both back off the ground, "This isn't just your ordinary Dschinn." He was breathing heavily, apparently in pain himself. "The antidote doesn't seem to be working at all, so you got to help me here." He moved his hand behind Dean's head as if to shake him awake gently. "You got to fight the poison, man." Grimacing, he lowered his head and his voice broke, "Fight the illusion, Dean."

Blinking lazily, Dean could only tilt his head. He had been poisoned? Was that why he was feeling so sluggish, or why he found himself unable to relate to Sammy's fears?

After all, this was nothing but a dream, albeit an incredibly detailed one.

And he still could not keep his eyes off the perfection that was his brother.

"Dean, please," Sammy rasped, gulped, and lifted his brother with a pained gasp, "Listen, Dean, you've got to be somehow awake, so just..." He inhaled sharply as his uncharacteristically shaky feet began carrying them both towards the exit of what looked like an abandoned warehouse. "Don't you dare falling asleep on me," he warned, "Not before you understand that _this right here, right now_ isn't a dream, but the reality you got to come back to."

_Huh?_

Probably thanks to whatever he had been poisoned with, Dean was unable to lift a single muscle. But even if he might never do so again, he wouldn't even mind believing Sammy's words.

Any world with Sammy in it was all right with him.

If he were to choose, he'd prefer any such reality to the dreary, colourless hell he was forced to wake up in every single morning.

Somewhere along the line, reuniting with Sam in his dreams had become his main motivation to bother surviving the real world.

This dream was no exception.

"Just hang on, Dean."

Before he knew it, Sam had carried him out of the warehouse. Dean had not even noticed it before, but the sun was just setting, flattering his brother's features even more.

When they reached the Impala, Sam's gaze finally met Dean's half-lidded eyes again. As if he had expected something else, his expression softened fondly. "You still with me?" he asked softly.

At the sight of that tiny smile, a smile he loved so much, Dean felt his heartbeat accelerating, and his voice finally found the words his mind had been circling around all along.

"You're so fucking beautiful."

He was surprised himself just how weak he really was. His words had been nothing but a breath. But Sam had heard them – his eyes had widened in recognition, his brows had furrowed in light confusion, but most importantly, his smile had widened in relief.

"Then just come back to me."

Curse a dream that had rendered Dean too weak to lift a finger, let alone kiss Sam the way his gorgeous smile was asking him to.

At least, though, his voice produced a raspy reply just as his eyelids slid closed against his will, "There's nothing I'd rather do."

* * *

_2013, with Dean_

He hadn't returned to the bunker in quite a while.

He did not even know why. He wasn't afraid of facing all the memories, especially since those memories were his only reason to go on in the first place.

More likely, he was afraid of doing nothing, of pondering too long.

Of standing at his brother's graveside with a bunch of flowers in his hand, confronted with his own powerlessness.

"Hey Sammy."

He was afraid of talking to him as if he could listen. Both here and in his dreams, it was obvious he was alone. But as he was staring at his beloved's name engraved in stone, the finality of his death hit him like a slap in the face.

Again.

"Long time no see," he gulped.

He could delude himself as much as he wanted, but this was real.

No angelic miracles.

No crossroads deals.

No hoodoo rituals.

"I brought you flowers," he offered with a slight shrug as he laid them down, "You hate these, remember? So just...defend yourself unless you want them around after all."

As much as he wished it to be true that, by some freaking twist of fate, he was merely caught in a Dschinn's cruel idea of amusement, he knew his only way to Sam was the stairway to heaven.

But he could not climb it, not yet.

"I'll bring you more next time," he promised and sat down at the large rock just opposite the grave, "and sooner or later, you'll have no other choice but to get revenge on me personally." He laughed hollowly. "I'd prefer sooner, but the fuglies left down here aren't exactly trying hard enough, so it might still take a while."

He lowered his head, unable to stomach more of that.

Until his time came, he could keep telling himself to believe in it, couldn't he? To believe that the graveyard did not smell like it should, or that his own lack of appetite was too unnatural to be true.

"I miss you, Sammy," he whispered and his voice broke at last.

He wanted to believe that he was merely sleeping so he could be with Sam once he woke up – for in a way, waiting for heaven was just the same, wasn't it?

"Then come home, Dean," Sam would say, and for a short moment, Dean even believed it had been his ears rather than his heart hearing him.

But Sam wasn't talking.

Buried just in front of him, he was so close, and yet so far away.

In spite of that knowledge, Dean couldn't keep himself from lifting his head at last, from looking around in the desperate hope of seeing Sam at last.

His breath hitched.

"This kind of Dschinn doesn't just feed on people's dreams, but on their utter despair," a hauntingly familiar voice spoke, "It creates the perfect life for them just so it can take everything away again."

Staring at the familiar silhouette in shock, Dean might have heard the words, but he had not listened.

His voice sounded right, his features looked right, but he was...transparent.

"Sammy," he croaked, and he barely even trusted his voice any further than that as he stumbled off the rock and towards what he hoped to be his brother, _"You're a ghost?"_

Lifting his hand as if realizing the truth for the first time, Sam frowned at it. "Apparently, I am," he replied slowly before looking at Dean again, "Figures this reality doesn't exactly want me to be alive." His face softened in sympathy, "You look like shit, Dean."

"Look who's talking," Dean countered with a horrible grimace as he tried to keep himself from panicking. Why hadn't Sam gone to heaven? And... "Why haven't you contacted me earlier?"

Sam's frown became worried. "Dean, are you even listening?" he asked and gulped, "I'm sorry I'm late, but I'm not too late, right?"

Dean blinked. "Too late for what?" he asked slowly, unable to process anything.

"You're not dead here," Sam explained with a sense of urgency, "Which means you can still wake up in the real world." He moved to shake Dean's shoulders and grimaced in frustration when his hand went right through him. "Wake up for me, Dean," he repeated once more.

Dean stared back numbly for a long while. Waking up? This wasn't a dream of his, was it? It was a ghost that looked and talked like Sam. Even if it wasn't Sam but something wearing his face to lure Dean into a trap, well...he had been ready to die for a long time anyway.

But...

But if this Sam was indeed talking the truth then...

"You're saying this is an illusion?" he asked slowly and motioned around himself, towards the grave, towards everything, unable to even grasp the possibility.

Sam smiled softly. "I never died, Dean," he reassured him and tilted his head, "Not permanently, at least. I'm here thanks to our final bit of African dream root, but no matter what this looks like..." He motioned down his own transparent appearance, "I'm properly alive right now." He gulped and added, "You, on the other hand... I need you wake up, man."

A tear ran down Dean's cheek.

Sam being alive...That was everything he had wanted to hear.

"What do I do?" he asked, and he could not believe Sam's smile was still just as gorgeous in his ghostly state.

"You've done this before, Dean," his brother explained, "Just choose the right reality."

Staring at his brother, Dean took several long breaths and began considering the possibility for real.

He had no idea just when this illusion should have started, but Sam might never have died.

They might never had taken on those damned vampires.

Sam might be still alive.

No.

He _was_ still alive.

Both of them were.

Suddenly, there was no longer a choice, uncertainty, anything.

Suddenly, it was plain as the day that they belonged together, in life and death alike.

There was no way Sam could ever have died, not alone.

There was no way the nightmare Dean was living through was the truth at all.

His vision began blurring, and from one moment to another, the dreary graveyard all his dreams had been buried in was gone.

Instead, Dean found himself sitting up in some motel room he did not actively remember. For a terrifying moment, he realized the ghost of his brother had gone along with the rest of the scene.

But even before he could break anew, he found a living, breathing and non-transparent version of Sam dozing just at his bedside.

As he leant closer in tentative disbelief, Dean could not keep the tears from falling.

"Sammy," he whispered fondly as he reached for his hand.

It was so warm to his touch.

"Sammy," he whispered fondly as he placed a soft kiss on his brother's forehead.

It felt right in every way.

"Sammy," he whispered as he pulled him into a feeble hug.

In waking up, Sam slowly hugged back.

"You have no idea," Dean rasped and made no move to let go any time soon, "how much I miss you."

Sam's posture loosened and he began stroking his brother's back in a soothing motion. "I'm right here with you, Dean," he promised, "and I'm not going anywhere, either." His voice softened. "Welcome back."

In tightening the embrace like that, he should be afraid to crush Sam in his arms, but he just couldn't help it.

He was so damn grateful.

"I'll never let you go again," he promised as he kept holding on to the only thing that mattered.

Sam, living, breathing, alive in his arms - right where he belonged.

And just like that, Dean's world regained its colours.

2.3 Return: End

* * *

_Notes:_ Okay, that's it for now. Dean got out of the illusion - but at what price?

I'm really sad to have lost Dean's Sammy in such a way - even though he was never supposed to last, I ended up liking him just as much as the real one (which is why I also like the first part as a standalone).

If he had still been alive by the time Dean realized he was caught in an illusion, though, I fear Dean might have simply chosen to stay there. Either that, or he would have ended up blaming the real Sam for losing the illusory one, which would not be that much better. Thankfully, though, we'll have to deal with neither of these scenarios.

Anyway, what do you guys think? Please let me know your thoughts/criticism/wishes/random outbursts/emoji on this and leave a review! :)


	9. 2-4 What happened and what didn't

**2.4 What happened and what didn't**

_Several hours later, with Dean_

"So, a Dschinn, huh?" Dean summarized and chuckled lightly, "Never thought I'd ever be so grateful to hear about one." He had been awake for a while already, but he was sitting on the bed just as before, still too exhausted to move, but still too exhilarated by his own sheer luck to fall asleep again.

He was still reluctant to even believe that the worst nightmare of his life had been just that – a nightmare.

But the proof was just in front of him, and, hell, it was a gorgeous piece of evidence.

He had not been able to watch Sammy for way too long, and witnessing him scurrying across the room doing whatever offered way too mesmerizing a sight, but also a worrying one. Sam was moving smoothly enough, but his left arm seemed to give him a bit of trouble. On top of that, he was still covered in dried blood from the night before. Most of that was hopefully not his own, but the small cut of his cheek indicated that at least some of it was.

Furrowing his brows, Dean decided to do a proper check-up on Sam rather now than later. Not that he wouldn't have harassed him anyway. But as soon as he tried moving, he realized his own low blood pressure turned even something as trivial as getting out of bed into quite a challenge. Exhausted from barely anything at all, he puffed out a breath.

How was he going to treat Sam's wounds again?

Dean had barely managed flinging his feet off the bed before the vertigo hit him.

Naturally, Sam was at his side in an instant and pushed him back onto the bed. "Hey there, take it slow," he warned and a hint of panic returned to his voice, "The Dschinn's dead and done for, but its poison is far from gone and you haven't eaten in days." On cue, he lifted a bottle of water and a couple of snacks for Dean to take.

Sensing a mini pie before even seeing it, the older brother began munching right away. "Dude, this is awesome," he hummed and sent a pointed leer in Sam's direction, "Now if only I could get some desert to go along with that..."

Unfortunately, the innuendo was totally lost on its target. Instead, Sam simply blinked multiple times, a blank expression on his face. "Seriously, Dean?" he drawled indignantly, "You wanna go partying at a time like this?"

Now it was Dean's turn to blink in confusion.

Meanwhile, Sam heaved a sigh put on an awesome bitchface, "Listen, I'm glad you're in a good mood, but you can't even get up right." His face softened, but much to his brother's dismay, a hint of worry returned to his expression. "One step at a time," Sam finished and looked away, "This was too much of a close call as it is."

Dean's eyes widened and, just like that, he dismissed any former confusion.

_Shit._ He'd been so relieved to have his brother back he only now noticed how much of a scare he had given him. "Listen," he began hurriedly, "We're both here and we're both fine, okay? Let's just take some time off and remember to be more careful the next time around."

Once again, Sam's reaction was a slow one. "Some time off?" he repeated slowly.

That question only strengthened Dean's enthusiasm on that particular matter. "Yeah, some time off!" he grinned and started pondering, "Remember that LARPing event last year? I'm sure there's something like it around here." He blinked, "Wherever we are anyway."  
Thinking hard, Sam furrowed his brows. "LARPing," he mused and tilted his head, "I thought you hated that Supernatural convention."

Dean arched an eyebrow. "Not that kind of LARP, man," he clarified, "The awesome medieval swords and shields kind."

Meeting his brother's eyes, Sam inhaled deeply, and Dean instantly got a bad feeling in his gut. "I don't know how to say it," the younger hunter spoke quietly, but very clearly, "We never went to an event like that, Dean." He lowered his chin lightly, keeping eye contact all the while, "It's still April 2011."

Dean's eyes widened. 2011? That was...

"Just how much time did you spend in that illusion?" Sam asked at last.

But Dean barely even heard him.

2011.

2011.

20-friggin-11?

But...but...that had been three years ago.

Three freaking years.

He knew that time could pass more quickly in an illusion but...

Just a moment ago, Dean had been convinced his Dschinn-induced nightmare had started when Sam had passed. Crushing him by taking away the one thing that made his life worth it sounded just about right for the sadistic kind of Dschinn he had fallen victim to.

But if it was 2011, then...

Sam had never died at the hand of a vampire, but...he had not fallen in love with his brother, either.

And it was only then that Dean recalled the words Sam had spoken when he had appeared in front of him as a ghost what felt like a lifetime ago.

"_This kind of Dschinn doesn't just feed off people's dreams, but off their utter despair,"_ he had said, _"It creates the perfect life for them just so it can take everything away again."_

"Dean," he heard Sam's voice addressing him. He saw him still staring right back at him.

Those eyes were still as gorgeous as he remembered them, and yet they only belonged to his brother...not to his lover.

"I..." he croaked, unsure what he even wanted to say. He only knew that he could not keep this up. "Leave me alone, Sam." He could not keep seeing the man he loved who was no longer that person.

Or rather...this Sam had never been _his_ Sam in the first place.

And out of all the things that he had gone through during the last year, or all the things he had learned on the two years he had allegedly forgotten about but never lived through in the first place...finding out about this was the worst part.

They might never have retired from the life.

They might never have closed the Gates of Hell.

They might never have defeated any Leviathans.

All those had been huge accomplishments, but he did not mind they had never had to fight any of those real or personal battles.

But with Sam...

Well, they had never been shot by a Cupid in the first place, which in turn meant there was no logical or explainable reason for any non-brotherly love between them in the first place.

He should be happy he had been given the chance to see his brother again.

Hadn't he said so himself? That he preferred any living and breathing version of Sam to the grave he had visited too often for his own sanity to survive?

That statement still held.

Even if he did not know, even though he looked offended by Dean's harsh rejection, this was still Sam – living, breathing, and so damn gorgeous.

But Dean once again had to tear his gaze off his brother.

Trading a deceased lover for a breathing brother was a better deal than any demon would ever have offered him.

Losing Sam had been the worst nightmare he had ever had.

But...that did not make it any easier to stomach that the best life he had ever led had been part of that nightmare, too.

* * *

_A day later_

Just a quick lunch at a nearby diner and they would be back on the road again.

It had taken a day for Dean to get back to moderate health, and a good helping of cheeseburger rejuvenated him well enough.

It would take much longer than that for Sam to stop worrying. He was barely eating any of his rabbit food at all.

Rolling his eyes, Dean put the burger down. "I'm fine, Sam," he stressed for what felt like the thousandths time. It was obvious to them both that he wasn't, and he doubted he would ever get over losing Sam in two ways at once, but if anything, only time would help him coping.

He understood his initial reaction was enough to get his brother worried, but first and foremost, it was his own problem anyway, wasn't it? So why couldn't Sam leave it alone?

"You don't look fine at all," the younger hunter observed quietly and gulped down a lump in his throat, and suddenly he looked positively miserable again. "See, I know this is something you'd never bother sharing with me, especially since we haven't exactly been on the best terms lately, but you've been abducted by a Dschinn, Dean," he explained and met his brother's eyes again, "You might as well have lived through an entire life time during those last three days, and from what I understand, this particular Dschinn was far from benevolent." He grimaced lightly when he noticed Dean's face falling and chose his wording with additional care. "All I'm saying is – you don't have to carry this burden alone," he stated quietly and corrected himself with renewed determination, "As a matter of fact, you shouldn't." He inhaled deeply and finished his speech with a question neither brother had dared mentioning, "What happened to you there, Dean?"

Inhaling deeply, Dean found his own heart beating faster. Too fast. He didn't want to think about it. "Don't ask," was all he trusted himself to say, intending to end the topic as quickly as it had come. But he found himself panicking before he could help it.

Suddenly, he was no longer looking into Sammy's eyes, but into the lifeless ones of his corpse.

"_Please don't get mad," he had said, and just like that, he had left him behind._

"Dean?" he heard Sammy's voice, stronger, closer, but almost as panicked as Dean himself felt in that moment.

"_Don't look down," Sam had said just before kissing his brother goodbye._

"Dean!" Sam called out to him, shaking his brother's shoulders rather forcefully. Within a blink, Dean snapped back to the present, and his eyes showed him the dirty wallpaper of the diner before focusing on his brother's eyes, which were so foreign yet so wonderfully alive. Just as quickly, though, he rediscovered the cut on Sam's cheek.

At long last, he dared looking down.

A wrinkled plaid shirt that nobody had ever bothered ironing - but there were no bloodstains at all.

There was nothing out of the ordinary.

"Dean," Sam addressed him, trying hard to regain his attention and succeeding at last. "I got it. We're both here and we're both fine, okay?" He assured him at a soft voice, "Just...calm down."

Dean was still breathing heavily, and he was failing pretty dramatically at following the order of calming down.

But...Sam's eyes were beautiful.

And they were full of warmth, and they were so alive.

And regardless of whether it was _his_ Sam or the real one, that realization alone shook him out of his nightmare once again.

* * *

_With Sam._

"I don't know what to do, Bobby," Sam began as he sat down at the kitchen table, "It's as if, I don't know, I'm personally freaking him out."

"It's not much of a surprise considering you did die on him in that dream," Bobby replied gruffly as he poured them both a glass of gin.

Sam arched an eyebrow in wonder. "He told you?"

Bobby's frown deepened as he looked towards the living room where the older Winchester had just fallen asleep. "He told me a fair bit, I guess," he reported, "Had to get him pretty drunk for that, though."

Sam arched an eyebrow. "He wouldn't even tell me anything," he stated flatly, "He freaked as soon as I addressed the matter."

"Well, your death did hit him most," Bobby explained with a light grimace, "Apparently, we all died on him at one point in time."

Sam nodded pensively, "When I told you we were visiting you he didn't believe me at first."

"Thing is," Bobby went on, "it looks like he had a pretty good life before fate, or rather the Dschinn, struck. Settled down, retired, complete with wife and happiness."

Sam's eyes widened. He had expected something along those lines of contentment, but... "He was _married_?"

Bobby shrugged. "She died in his arms," he offered grimly.

Inhaling deeply, Sam bit his lip. This was bad.

Just two days ago, he had seen it – he had seen Dean relieved, happy even. But...that illusion had done something to him that might not even be mendable. In showing him how good life could be, it had forced an even greater feeling of pain and loss upon him.

And with Dean as talkative as he was, Sam saw little ways of and little hope to even be able to help.

Unhappily, he sought his friend's eyes. "What do we do, Bobby?"

Again, the older hunter could only grimace in response. "Not much we can do," he stated simply, "If he's ever ready to talk about it, he'll know we're here to listen. But until then, well, we won't have much of another choice but to wait it out."

2.4 What happened and what didn't: End


	10. 2-5 Understanding

**2.5 Understanding**

_With Sam._

He had no idea how Bobby had done it. No matter whether he caught him drunk, exhausted or both, Sam's approaches to his brother stayed as futile as the first one. Once asked about the Dschinn's nightmare which was obviously still plaguing him several weeks afterwards, Dean would either end the topic with a glare, a comment like "I told you, it's none of your business," or, worst of all, freak out altogether. Whilst the last option had only occurred two or three times, they had terrified Sam more than any monster they had encountered recently.

If the pain and loneliness that flickered through Dean's eyes in those moments reflected even only a bit of the emotional trauma he had gone through, Sam felt obliged to help him over it.

But they had never been good comforting each other in that way.

And so, no matter how much Sam tried, no matter how often he attempted addressing the matter, Dean would keep shutting him out.

And then, after a while, Dean got good enough at masking the pain for Sam to settle for the one solution they always chose for matters like these anyway.

What couldn't be healed stayed unmentioned so maybe one day enough time would pass to make things bearable again.

As they were finishing one hunt after the other as if nothing had changed, Sam found himself returning the old routine, but he was ashamed to realize he could accept the silent compromise with Dean. Both brothers had a couple of skeletons in their closet they would never dare to look at again.

So maybe it was better like that.

Maybe this was the only way for wounds like that to heal in the first place.

So instead of offering an open ear to listen, Sam settled for smaller things – more pie for Dean, some more chores for himself and an assorted selection of predictably easy hunts.

Much like it seemed to get Dean to calm down, returning to the road gave Sam a sense of security. Here, they knew what they were doing, and they were damn good at it.

At long last, their lives returned to normal once again.

And then they stayed at a motel that had only one room and a double bed left.

"It's okay," Sam had yawned and accepted the keys without even thinking twice, "I'll just crash on the couch or something." It had been weeks, but he had not yet given up on offering Dean small favours like that.

And, well, as he was following him to their room with heavy footsteps and dark circles under his eyes, Dean certainly looked as if he needed that bed. "Don't be an idiot," he grumbled back as he followed his brother into the room and scrutinized the bed in question, "Look, it's large enough for both of us." He sent Sam a funny look and added with an arched eyebrow, "Just keep your hands to yourself."

Rolling his eyes, Sam closed the door and tossed his duffel bag in a corner. It had been a long day to both of them and he could think of nicer things than arguing over the bed.

Sleep, for example.

And, well, just as Dean had pointed out, the bed was technically large enough for both of them. If they were lucky, they might even manage not rolling into each other through the night – which really wouldn't be that much of a problem. After all, they had shared a bed often enough throughout their childhood, so the proximity wasn't the real issue – Dean's nightly kicks of death were.

But then again, tired enough as it was, Sam was ready to give it a try.

He fell asleep within mere minutes.

He woke up again after mere hours.

It was dark outside, so he could barely make out anything, but it was not a visual marker that had woken him up in the first place.

He felt something pressing against his upper back, warm and solid. He did a mental double-take before realizing that this was no threat. He would have jumped up and attacked on any other occasion, but the arm resting on his waist definitely belong to his brother.

Who was loosely hugging him from behind.

Dean didn't say anything as he kept his face buried in his brother's shirt, but he was breathing irregularly and trembling slightly.

Most likely, he had already woken up from whatever nightmare had gotten to him.

And Sam had no idea what to do.

There was no way he would or could move out of a desperate embrace like that.

There was no way Dean would allow him to see him like that.

But Sam had to offer him some sort of comfort, right? At least, he had to make sure his brother knew he was awake. And so, he settled for the most quiet whisper he could muster, "Dean."

In an instant, he felt his brother stiffening behind him. His breathing seemed to calm down, but that was probably just his usual tough façade sliding back into place. What came as a surprise to Sam, though, was the fact that Dean did not flinch away.

As a matter of fact, he stayed in exactly the same position.

"Are you alright?" Sam tried again after what felt like an eternity had passed in silence.

Finally, Dean reacted in lowering his head slightly. If anything, that intensified his pressure on Sam's back, but it wasn't exactly an unwelcome sensation. Back when Sam had still been half as tall and much easier to hug, Dean had often offered him comfort that way, and as now, decades later, Sam felt his brother's arm holding him just a bit tighter, he felt a wave of nostalgia washing over him.

He didn't mind the contact, and he probably never would.

The real question was – where the hell was it coming from?

He inhaled deeply to try another approach when Dean, finally, beat him to it.

"Humour me, Sam," was all he said. His voice sounded quiet and raw, and Sam understood at once that the conversation was over.

Putting his hand on top of his brother's, he squeezed gently.

He could humour him all right.

If the physical contact gave his brother some sense of comfort in these troubled times, he was glad to provide.

When he woke up several hours later to find Dean already up and about, he could not help feeling surprisingly refreshed.

And he could not help noticing the tiniest hint of a smile on Dean's features, either.

* * *

_Later_

Against their better judgement, they ended up staying at that particular motel for a couple of nights. Dean would end up sneaking over to his brother's side every single night.

It was a curious situation, but Sam could not even claim to be weirded out by his brother's uncharacteristic behaviour. At first, he kept telling himself that this was what Dean needed – that he was simply humoring his brother, to put it in his words.

But then, as he felt his brother pulling him closer just because, he could not help realizing that it felt good on a very primal level. After everything they had been through, it suddenly seemed like a miracle either of them was even capable of such an open display of affection – to each other, at least.

There had been numerous times when Sam had felt his brother changing, moving and drifting just out of his reach. Somehow, they had always found their ways back to each other, but they had never grown close again.

This, though – the warm hand on his side, the hot breath against his neck – this was something palpable, literally. By some miracle, they had become brothers again, and before he knew it, Sam, too, started taking comfort in Dean's proximity.

Not that he would ever say so out loud, of course.

As a matter of fact, neither brother had ever brought the matter up in conversation, and Sam had a feeling this was exactly the kind of silent agreement that would fall apart as soon as it was spoken about.

Thus, they didn't.

Once the local surprise hunt was taken care of, they hit the road again. With the next motel and a new set of socially acceptable, _separate_ beds, this would stay a one-time occurrence anyway.

Or rather, it would have – if the nightmares hadn't started haunting Dean worse than ever.

He wasn't screaming, he wasn't crying, but whenever he thrashed around in his sleep and nearly jumped out of his bed in waking up or being shaken awake, his eyes would dart to Sam before anything else.

He was far from over it, Sam realized at that point.

Dean had never even _started_ getting over losing him in that dreamland.

Whenever he had one of his episodes, he would stare at Sam for an entire minute as if he was seeing a ghost.

Worse yet, he still wouldn't talk about it – which really only left Sam with one option.

He made sure to book all their rooms so they accidentally only held one sufficiently large bed.

Funnily enough, Dean once again didn't even comment on it.

* * *

_Some weeks later_

They were making progress.

"So what?" Dean asked as he frowned at the documents in front of him, "You saying this shifter is trying to set some kind of record by copying everyone in this town at least once?"

Shrugging, Sam tilted his head. "It's gonna make him awfully difficult to track, for sure," he added helpfully and nodded to the busty waitress approaching them with their meals in that very moment, "He might even be serving our food right now."

Frowning at his brother's words, Dean flashed the waitress a polite smile as she set down the dishes before leaving with a wink. "Dude," he complained as he glared from his burger to Sam and back, "I've been looking forward to this."

Sam arched an eyebrow. "Oh come on," he countered in disbelief, "I spoiled your appetite for the burger but not for the waitress?" He took a moment to reassess his brother. "Have you even noticed her offensive flirting?"

Dean stared at his brother as if he had grown another head. "Of course I have," he clarified.

"She's totally your type," Sam offered helpfully.

Dean inhaled deeply. "She's totally not," he contradicted and sent his brother a warning glare before tucking in at last, "Don't even go there, man."

Gulping, Sam shrunk back a bit.

Had he crossed some kind of line?

It couldn't be – _oh._

_Shit._

Of course.

In that alternate reality, Dean had been _married_.

It might have been a while, but if he had never gotten over losing Sam, he had most likely not stomached the loss of his wife, either.

Gulping once again, Sam began munching on his salad.

Officially, he wasn't even supposed to know about her existence. So how exactly did Dean expect him to be sensitive in that area if he had no information at all? No name, no optical impressions, no nothing.

Just another painful weight on Dean's shoulders the idiot had chosen to carry alone.

Grimacing, Sam wished his brother would stop shutting him out.

So maybe he had been living in an illusion for a year, but it had been real to him – and as such, it would be real to Sam.

If only he was given a chance.

"Dude, don't make that face."

Blinking, Sam was shaken out of his reverie and found his brother staring back at him with a surprisingly good-natured expression. "It'll be stuck like that," Dean chided on with his mouth still full, "and there goes your model career."

Furrowing his brows, Sam barely even believed his ears. "Well, I guess it gets to rest in peace right next to your singing career, then," he countered with a shrug and resumed eating.

Scandalized, Dean was ready to retort in an instant, but he held himself back.

Sighing, Sam wondered vaguely why his brother hadn't defended his singing skills. After all, even though he often made a big show of being annoying with it, Dean did hit the right tunes if he wanted it.

Or was it something else?

The stupid model joke? It wasn't exactly a new thing, either. After all, they both got teased about their rather good looks often enough, not only by outsiders, but also by each other.

Downing the last tomato, Sam decided to dismiss the matter with a shrug when a single stray thought hit him.

_"You're so fucking beautiful,"_ Dean, half-asleep, dehydrated and much too close to death, had greeted him when Sam had freed him from that damn Dschinn's lair.

And it hadn't been a tease.

Sam nearly choked on his tomato when he found himself confronted with an entirely new possibility.

What if Dean's illusion had never really lured him into a classic apple-pie life with a steady job and a hot wife to begin with?

With his parting from Lisa still fresh in both brothers' minds, they had once again ended up accepting they would never get out of the life after all. More importantly, though, Sam knew for a fact that Dean enjoyed the thrill of the hunt and the sheer satisfaction helping people offered.

So what if his brother's idea of a great life was just that? Fighting on until the world became a better place, that sounded much more like him than repairing cars in suburbia.

But Sam also understood that deep down, Dean was striving for a steady relationship – someone to share his fears and thoughts with.

Someone to come home to.

Both aspects considered, Dean's only option would have been to marry another hunter. But even then, the fear of losing his better half would have driven him off a marriage unless he could trust that person unconditionally.

Now Sam had known his brother long enough to understand that nobody outside of their family even stood a chance to gain that kind of trust within the mere short year he had spent in that world.

Probably, the Dschinn had had a similar insight on Dean's psyche – and because he would never get his victim to depend on a total stranger that easily, he would have chosen the next best opportunity in twisting and bending the one close relationship Dean still held out of proportions...in getting him to fall for his own brother of all people.

Inhaling deeply, Sam shook his head to clear his thoughts.

This was getting too absurd even for their lifestyle.

His reasoning stood on solid ground, true enough, but first and foremost, they were _brothers_.

There was no way some run-of-the-mill monster had managed convincing Dean of anything else.

Gulping, Sam stared from his empty plate to his brother's questioning expression. Arching an elegant eyebrow, Dean had either not noticed or chosen to ignore Sam's obvious inner turmoil. "I told you, you need to start eating proper food," he commented instead.

"And you should start watching your cholesterol," Sam shot back automatically. He blinked. He had not even meant to counter at all, but it had come so naturally to him he could actually convince himself.

Even though it did not mean much by their standards, Dean was comparatively fine, and so was Sam.

Things were normal enough now, weren't they?

So why the hell – the looks, the comments, the overall behaviour – why the hell did Sam's weird new theory explain so damn much that had been different between them lately?

* * *

_Some weeks later_

As it always happened, it started with the small things.

They were on a hunt that involved much more research than action. To put it short, Sam was indulged in his studies while Dean got bored out of his mind. But even though time was of the essence, Sam was not engrossed enough _not_ to notice the subtle looks his brother sent him.

Dean had started doing that as soon as he had woken up from the dream. Every once in a while, and more often than necessary at all, he would steal a glance at his brother to make sure he was still there.

Sam understood that need to ascertain the truth – heck, he'd do exactly the same in his position.

But he had never quite found out why those glances tended to turn into stares every once in a while.

And then he had finally realized that Dean maybe, just maybe, wasn't staring at him to make sure he didn't vanish.

Dean was staring at him because he _liked watching him_.

And it confused the hell out of Sam, but before he even realized what he was doing, he had already started wondering.

How had that happened?

Even if they could get over the fact that they were both about as straight as they come, they were brothers, and at least Sam had never even considered the possibility of anything more. So how had the Dschinn managed planting that idea in Dean's mind?

What had it taken for Dean to acknowledge, let alone accept that he might want them to be more than brothers?

What had it taken for both of them – Dean and the illusion's version of Sam – to develop such feelings...and even go along with that?

Sighing, Sam leant back in his chair and realized he had been staring at the screen without seeing anything.

"Daydreaming, are we?" he heard Dean's comment across the room and looked at him in exasperation, "I can recommend some good sites for that, if you know what I mean." He arched an eyebrow as he shut his own laptop at last. "As a matter of fact, I'm pretty sure they're still in your browsing history," he added in challenge.

Releasing another sigh, Sam tilted his head. "I've been wondering about your recent Pen-Island-d-ot-com habits," he pointed out with a frown. Now, especially since he knew Dean would be teasing him like that, he had never actually checked his browsing history for his own sanity's sake. Accusing his brother of visiting _another_ kind of porn site, though, might at least shed some light on the matter.

But instead of staring back at Sam in sheer horror, Dean reacted much more smoothly than expected. "Just wanted to make sure you get to see some ads you'll like," he countered with a good-natured chuckle as he got up to stretch after hours of sitting.

Sam opened his mouth to retort, but he never got that far – as he kept glaring at his brother, and thus watched him as he rolled his shoulder and strolled towards the fridge for beer, Dean's tease reworded itself in his thoughts – and Sam could not help wondering...

Did _he _like what he was seeing?

Could any of this actually _work_?

And, would it be worth the trouble?

"You want one?" Dean called across the room as he was digging through the fridge.

"Yeah," Sam answered automatically and wondered what he was even agreeing to, for he had been way too distracted. Thankfully, though, that short conversation managed shaking him out of his reverie after all, and as he kept blinking to just get rid of that feeling of sheer absurdity, he could not help admitting...

Just now, he had ended up staring, too.

"You got anything?" Dean asked as he strolled over and handed him the beer before arching an eyebrow at the screen, "Aside from Pen Island, that is."

Sighing yet again, Sam took a large gulp of beer to drown the awkwardness in alcohol. "I think we might be dealing with..." he summarized the last couple of hours with one unhappy grimace, "gremlins."

Dean had been watching him expectantly, and now he was choking on his beer. "Gremlins," he repeated incredulously, coughed once again and tilted his head, "as in, tiny, fictional fluff balls that try killing you once you feed them after midnight."

Sighing, Sam turned the laptop and tilted the screen for his brother to see. "Looks like they're not as fictional as we thought," he explained and pointed towards one particular paragraph on the page. "The movie was based on actual lore."

After squinting at the screen, Dean stood straight with a sigh. "So you're saying someone held these as pets and fed them at the wrong time," he summarized sceptically.

"Remember it all started with a fire alarm?" Sam offered, "They reproduce via water, so even if there was only one in the beginning, we most likely got a small population now."

"Awesome," Dean summarized and took another look at the screen, "But sunlight kills them, right?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded, "Considering they're allergic to bright light in general, a solar simulator in their nest should work quickest."

"Nice," Dean replied and clapped his hands in anticipation. "So let's get going," he announced, "Time for some fluffball barbeque." He had already walked half the distance to the door when he noticed his brother wasn't even getting up yet.

"It's midnight, Dean," Sam pointed out as if that explained anything, but as his brother only frowned back, he elaborated at last. "These things die in the sunlight, and we have to get _all of them_," he stated as he shut his laptop at last, "During the day, most of their escape routes are cut off naturally, so let's just call it a day and get an early start tomorrow."

Still frowning deeply, Dean seemed unhappy to be put off like that, but could not argue with his brother's reasoning, either. "We don't even know where their nest is yet," he pointed out at last.

Sam rolled his eyes as he got up and fished his sleeping clothes from a nearby chair. "If you want to go to a pub and ask around for tiny fluffballs, go ahead," he commented with a yawn, "Once they get homicidal, they look more like reptiles than fluffballs, by the way, so you might want to ask around for that, too."

For another moment, Dean watched his brother through narrowed eyes. Finally, though, he heaved a sigh in resignation. "Fine, spoilsport," he agreed grumpily as he returned to the bed, "We'll get the vic to spill more details tomorrow."

Half an hour later, they switched off the light, ready for a few hours of rest and a hopefully quick hunt in the morning.

Another hour later, Sam still lay awake, staring at the dark ceiling above. They had been up for twenty hours straight, yet as most of it had been research on the internet, he might be exhausted, but did not feel as tired as he would otherwise.

Worse yet, his mind was still occupied with thoughts that had nothing to do with the current hunt, and as he turned to lie on his side just so he could keep looking at his brother's silhouette, it did not quite serve to soothe his troubled thoughts.

They still shared a bed, just as they had been doing it for weeks already, but Dean barely ever cuddled up to him anymore. Instead, he settled for a loose touch at most nights, brushing Sam's arm or fingers just to make sure he was still there.

This night, however, Dean had ended up staying on his side of the bed without any contact whatsoever. Lying still and breathing deeply, he seemed to sleep well enough – and if he no longer needed his brother's physical contact for that, that was a sign he was recovering at last, wasn't it?

So why...

Staring at his brother, Sam bit his lip.

Why couldn't he get himself to be grateful for that development?

If things kept going like that, maybe Dean would get over the whole Dschinn nightmare after all, and at one point they might end up booking separate beds again, just like in the old days, just like brothers should.

That would be the right thing to do.

That would be the proper development.

But, in that moment, in the middle of the night, with his eyes on the dark outline of his brother's face and his thoughts full of indecision, Sam still couldn't sleep, and he doubted he would be able to any time soon.

So what if he _liked_ what he was seeing?

What if he didn't _want_ to book separate beds again?

What if he had ended up needing that nightly, unspoken assurance, too?

Sighing deeply, he tore his gaze off his brother and turned to lie on his back again. He started hating that stupid ceiling.

His thoughts might wander off in the most absurd of directions, but they all relied on one assumption. Both Sam and Dean would have to agree with this.

Getting together, becoming more than brothers.

Both of them would have to understand what it meant.

And, even if they were both aware of their attraction to the other, even if they both wanted more, they would have to talk about it at one point - and that was hilariously unlikely to happen.

Regardless of Sam's opinion on the matter, Dean would have to face it, too.

But he had grown more and more proficient at ignoring it altogether. After everything he had gone trough, it might not even be wise to open up those wounds again.

After all, Sam still only knew basic facts on what exactly had happened in that year his brother had been caught in the illusion. Maybe the image of himself that his brother had grown so dependent on had not even behaved like him. Maybe walking a similar path would break Dean rather than help him.

Inhaling deeply, Sam inwardly cursed the situation.

So at long last he had figured out the riddle, but the solution was just another question.

Sam could think about this whatever he wanted, in the end it depended on Dean what was and what was not going to happen between them.

Sending another heartfelt glare at the ceiling, Sam realized he wouldn't get any sleep that night, no matter how hard he tried. He might as well get out and jog a bit, if only to work off his confusion. Before he had even brushed the bedsheets off his body, though, he noticed Dean moving next to him.

Feeling slightly guilty, he glanced at his brother. Had he woken him?

Sure enough, Dean had rolled over to lie on his side, facing him directly now, but to all appearances he was still fast asleep. Nonetheless, he no longer looked as peaceful as before. Just as his breathing was accelerating ever so slightly, his expression had become a tense one.

Dean was having another nightmare, and Sam immediately regretted his earlier, treacherous thoughts. It didn't matter whether his brother's dependence on him assured him simply because he felt needed for once – Dean shouldn't have to suffer like this for any reason.

Instead, he should be happy.

He should be as easy-going and happy as on the day he had woken up from the Dschinn's illusion.

Sam still remembered a smile and attitude he hadn't quite understood back then.

Of course, that had been the short moment in which Dean had been convinced it was _his own_ Sam he had been facing.

The one he had grown closer to.

The one he had fallen in love with.

He hadn't smiled like that after he found out the full truth.

Worse yet, Sam realized with a bitter grimace that there was a real chance he might never see his brother smile like that again.

But...

Dean was right there, suffering through a nightmare and, with his hand reaching out without him even noticing, he still needed his brother for whatever twisted reason.

And even if he couldn't do anything else to get his brother through this, even if Dean might be craving for someone entirely else in that moment...

As long as he was close enough, as long as he was able to help Dean through this, Sam would never hesitate to reach for that hand and squeeze it softly.

Just like many times before, it did not take long for Dean to calm down at last.

Sam released a breath he had not even known he had been holding, and he could not help smiling in relief.

It worked like a charm, but not only on Dean.

Sam might not have gotten to any helpful conclusions on their relationship. At least, though, the warmth of Dean's hand and the steady rhythm of his breathing ended up calming him down, too.

And Sam finally managed falling asleep at last.

2.5 Understanding: End


	11. 2-6 Confrontation

**2.6 Confrontation**

_With Dean_

Their latest case had brought them to some backwater town in Montana, and as they were standing in the morgue under the cover of FBI agents Young and Thorne, Dean did not like what he was seeing at all.

The victim was a young girl barely out of her teens that had been captured and beaten for days. But neither bruises nor broken bones had killed her – the huge bite mark on her neck had.

"So, vampires," Sam summarized once the forensic doctor left them to their own devices, "And rather brutal ones at that." Stepping closer to the corpse, he examined the cuts and bruises rather carefully. "Even if they held her captive to keep her fresh," he drawled, "I'm pretty sure most of these wounds have been inflicted after they had already restrained her, which basically means..." He trailed off, straightened again and arched an eyebrow at his brother.

As he stood frozen on the spot with a deep frown etched on his face, it took Dean a moment to realize he was supposed to follow his brother's argumentation. Thankfully, though, his ears had bothered listening even with his mind miles away. "...that these bastards tortured her for fun," he summarized gruffly and tore his gaze off the corpse at last to stare emptily at his notes instead.

Sam took a moment to frown at his brother's delayed reaction, but went on after all. "It's not that typical for them to leave a body like this," he mused, "Especially if they've already brought her to their lair, they would have disposed of her properly, so they're either incredibly inexperienced..."

"...or they were interrupted by someone," Dean finished, this time without delay, "With some luck, another hunter already got to them." He wouldn't say so openly, but he felt incredibly relieved at that notion.

Frankly, he had thought he'd gotten over it.

But as he was standing there, with Sam alive and breathing next to him and a vampire hunt ahead, he couldn't help remembering the last vampires they had taken down together, no matter how hard he tried forgetting it.

And all of a sudden, he wasn't so sure whether he could take on vampires after all.

"If that hunter really got them," Sam replied slowly and furrowed his brows, "He would've tidied up the whole place, not just the vamps."

And just like that, Dean's hope of avoiding this was crushed in a short sentence. "Point taken," he commented gruffly, "Let's question the family, then. We're done here anyway, right?" He looked at his brother to find him nodding and walked towards the exit, but not without casting a final look at the vic on the table.

He should not have done that.

Forcing his eyes shut, he tried shaking the image out of his head.

He kept seeing Sam on that table.

Bloodied, broken, _gone_.

And he realized that he would never get over this.

Not as long as there were still vampires on this world.

They needed to go.

All of them.

But...was he really up to fighting them?

* * *

_Later_

"So we got an address," Sam summarized slowly after they had reviewed their notes and witness accounts.

"Looks like it," Dean agreed with a nod and took a bite of his cheeseburger. For whatever reason, Sam had finished his sad excused of a lunch before him, but that wouldn't keep him from enjoying his meal.

Especially since he wasn't exactly looking forward to what came afterwards.

They had pretty much found out where to go – all that was left was ganking those bastards.

And he still doubted he could.

But he had to.

If not now, then never.

"Good," Sam agreed and sent his brother a wary look as he pulled his phone out of his pocket, "Then I'll call Bobby now."

Dean furrowed his brows. "You think this is some weird subspecies or something?" he asked, not sure what his brother was getting at. From what they had gathered, there was nothing special about these vamps – the only thing that was new was...well, that he doubted he was up to it.

And as he watched Sam unlocking his phone, he realized that this was exactly what this was about.

"We're not going any further on this hunt," Sam announced in a voice that left no room for discussion and fixed his brother in a warning stare, "We'll relay the intel to some hunter close by."

Dean opened his mouth to protest, but no words came out. Was it that obvious? He had been wanting to get out of this hunt from the very beginning, but even aside from the fact he had had no idea how to explain it to his brother, he had stuck with it for one simple reason.

If he wasn't fit to fight vampires now, he never would be.

And if he wasn't fit to fight vampires, he wasn't fit to hunt at all.

"We're not skipping out on this one," he replied firmly and entered a staring battle he really had no chance to win anyway.

"Just look at yourself, man," Sam countered and leant back with a sigh, "Even if I were willing to do this to you, right now you're in no state to hunt anything."

Inhaling sharply, Dean narrowed his eyes. Suddenly, he didn't so much mind that he hadn't concealed his inner turmoil sufficiently, but that Sam had the nerve to point it out to him. "I need to do this, Sam," he stressed warningly and gritted his teeth, "It's either now or never." Taking another rather forceful bite of his burger, he tried calming down.

Sam's words weren't exactly making this any easier on him.

He shouldn't have to justify himself.

And as he saw Sam slumping his shoulders with a sigh, he hoped his brother saw that, too. "Frankly, I'd rather avoid vampires from now on than put you through this," the younger hunter admitted, and Dean frowned in disbelief.

Sam didn't even know what he was talking about, so what –

"As a matter of fact, if I'd known about..." Sam added and hesitated, "...about _this_, I wouldn't have suggested this hunt at all."

Dean, meanwhile, couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You _don't_ know about this, Sam," he clarified heatedly.

But his brother only sighed wearily. "You haven't been this broken since I found you in that Dschinn's illusion," he pointed out flatly and motioned towards the notes scattered across the table, "So this is how I – the other me – died, right?" He halted briefly, replying to Dean's gasp with a sympathetic look. "Vampires."

Forcing his eyes shut, Dean tried not to think about it.

He tried getting rid of the images.

Damn Sam for being as observant as that.

Before he knew it, Dean found himself breathing heavily and saw a dark room full of corpses and broken furniture instead of a shabby diner.

He saw a pale and bloodied lover instead of a concerned brother.

He felt a warm hand squeezing his own, and just like that Sam looked healthy again – and his hesitant smile was just as gorgeous as it had always been.

"I need you alive and well, Dean," Sam told him quietly, "Hunts can go wrong, and they usually do as soon as you expect them to."

For a long moment, Dean simply stared – _glared _– at his brother.

"_Humour me_," Sam said at last, using his brother's own words against him.

And it was then that Dean realized he had long lost the argument.

* * *

_Some weeks later_

Sam stayed true to his word – Dean had no idea how he did it, but they didn't run into any vampire cases for several hunts after that.

They did, however, run into their furry rivals.

With both brothers equipped with a large stock on silver bullets and a silver knife, there was really nothing that could go wrong.

Until they discovered the werewolves' dining room in a seemingly abandoned family house...that held a secret basement full of freaking lycantropes.

"What the hell," Dean exclaimed in shock as he slammed the formerly hidden door shut and barricaded it with a bookshelf nearby, "Is this a damn _breeding ground_?"

"I don't know," Sam replied as he scanned the room for any of the intruders they could already hear roaming through the house, "Either way, we're gonna be busy."

As if to stress his point, the bookshelf started rumbling. "You take the door, I take the shelf," Dean ordered, took cover behind a couch in the corner and trained his gun on the shelf that he knew would give way any second.

"Got it," Sam agreed, peeked through the door and shot down the first wolf before it got even close.

Dean huffed to himself and caught another cautionary glance at his brother.

He didn't like this turn of events at all.

He didn't dare remembering the last time they had been outnumbered like that. But Sam had been right: a hunt goes wrong once you expect it to. This wasn't a nightmare created to torture him – this was reality. And reality could go either way.

Thus, he knew they would manage, just like they always had.

And Dean shot the first wolf right in the forehead.

The second in the heart.

The third, fourth and fifth, too.

The sixth, however, didn't even dare leaving the hidden basement. With another glance at his brother, who was as always doing just fine on his end, Dean ventured across the fallen bookshelf and towards the secret door. He could hear the beast howling, but the sound didn't come from the stairs in front...

But from underneath him.

His eyes widened, and he barely had the time to step back.

The howling grew worse, and he half expected the thing to just claw its way right through the floor.

And he failed to watch the door for a second.

That was all it took for the sixth wolf to jump out of the basement at last. With another deafening howl, it tackled Dean to the ground, sunk its claws into his neck and shoulder, bared his teeth and...

"Dean!"

Another gunshot rang through the air, and as the beast dropped its heavy weight right on top of him, Dean was pretty sure at least one of them had not missed.

But...

Losing a bit more blood than he'd like, he felt his consciousness fading and returning, but as soon as the corpse was moved from him, he could at least breathe freely again.

More importantly, though, he loved the sight of Sam hovering above him.

"I'm fine," he croaked and struggled back into a sitting position just as Sam shot one of the wolves he was supposed to cover.

To return the gesture, Dean took out the one that entered the room through its regular entrace. His vision might be slightly blurry, but he would be able to keep sitting as long as Sam was watching his back, and they could still make this work.

Half a dozen bullets later, the noises finally died down.

"How's the wound?" Sam asked quietly as he crouched down in front of his brother.

"Fine enough," Dean grunted, trying to ignore the pain. He didn't mind his own injuries that much – more importantly, Sam was absolutely unscathed. And he would make sure it stayed that way. "We still need to clear that basement," he added and tried struggling to his feet.

He didn't quite manage doing so.

Sighing, Sam shrugged out of his jacket and folded it haphazardly. "Keep pressing that against the wound," he all but ordered as he handed the jacket over and glanced towards the stairs, "I'll be right back."

Dean, however, refused taking the jacket altogether. "Don't you dare going alone," he warned as he once again tried – and failed to – get up.

"There can't be that many more down there," Sam offered as he leant forward and gently pressed the jacket onto the wound on Dean's neck, making him hiss in pain.

Another howl rang through the air, and both brothers froze for a moment.

Looking for the source frantically, Dean found his vision blacking in and out annoyingly often. He had to stay awake, he had to –

Before he knew it, he heard Sam's gun going off.

In the basement below.

"Sam?" he asked, blinking his vision back just so he could make out that familiar outline somewhere.

Another shot rang through the air, and Dean realized he was alone in a room full of corpses.

"Sammy," he repeated, still clutching to the jacket on his neck as he willed his legs to push his body up against the wall.

He couldn't, he _wouldn't_ stand for this.

Sammy, he'd...

He couldn't leave him alone like this, he had to help, because if he didn't then he would...

Breathing heavily, with his vision fading in and out, Dean forced his feet down the stairs, forward, onward. His sight wasn't much more than a tunnel view by that point, and he had to concentrate far too much to hear anything at all.

But there were noises downstairs – something fell to the floor, something crashed against a wall. At least one wolf was panting heavily down there, growling on occasion.

And there were no gunshots.

Dean realized numbly Sam must have run out of bullets at last, and he nearly stumbled over one of the corpses scattered on the stairs in his hurry.

He heard another crush, followed by a colourful curse...and the sound of claws ripping through skin.

Before he knew it, he stood in a basement paved with corpses. Only one of the wolves still remained.

And with its claws embedded in his left shoulder, it had Sam pinned against the wall.

Baring its teeth, it was ready to tear him apart.

"_No one touches my brother_," Dean ground out furiously, and he barely even noticed himself aiming.

Pulling the trigger.

Burying every.

Single.

Bullet.

In the werewolf's skull.

Right were they belonged.

The beast never even got to howl in pain – it dropped dead on the spot.

Releasing Sammy at last.

And for one, horrible moment, Dean feared it would drag him down as well.

The beast's claws detached themselves from Sam's shoulder with a sickening noise, but the boy kept standing – swaying slightly, but he was alright enough.

And he was staring right back at Dean in a mixture of worry and disbelief. Finally, though, he slumped his shoulders. "Talk about an overkill," he commented and took a shaky step forward, and another one, and another one.

And he arrived at Dean's side just in time to steady him before his legs could once again give out on him. Forcing his eyes shut, Dean tried fighting the vertigo.

The rush of adrenaline was wearing off way too quickly, but it didn't matter.

Sam was safe at last.

He was right at his side, warm and solid and breathing so heavily.

"Seriously," Sam was rasping as he manoeuvred the two of them up the stairs, one step at a time, "thanks."

And as he was dragging his feet along in an automated motion, Dean found himself drifting away at last.

But he still managed a gruff reply. "You're fucking welcome."

* * *

_The next day_

Dean dreamt of a kiss.

_"Dean," his brother was urging him quietly, "Dean, are you okay?"_

_Hovering above him, he was gorgeous – in spite of all the blood and gore he was covered in._

_They shared a kiss - so slow, so weak, yet so incredibly longing, it was unlike any they had shared before._

_It screamed of despair, and it tasted like blood._

_Dean's mind went blank when he finally understood it for what it was._

_"Don't die on me," he pleaded as he pulled his brother closer in a desperate attempt to keep his life from seeping out._

_But Sam was growing paler and paler, his breathing more and more shallow and then..._

He answered.

"It's alright, Dean," Sammy whispered into his ear as he began stroking his brother's hair in a soothing motion, "I'm right here with you."

Inhaling sharply, Dean tightened his grip, willing those words true, willing for Sam to get better.

"And I won't leave you behind," Sam added softly, and Dean finally realized that, albeit quiet, his voice was so much stronger than it had been before.

His breathing so much calmer.

His hands so much stronger.

And finally, as he noted that warm, regular breath on his skin, as he smelled a mixture of sweat, blood and a shampoo he couldn't quite place, as he found himself clinging to a torso that was neither shaking nor trembling, he _remembered_.

They might have ended up between a rock and a hard place.

But they hadn't fought any vampires.

And they were both all right.

Inhaling deeply, he allowed himself to enjoy his brother's scent for another while.

He might have dreamt of a faint kiss.

But he awoke to a tight embrace.

He felt Sam's heart beating against his own chest, and he could keep listening to his calm breathing for an eternity.

But Dean's urge to see his brother's face – to make sure that things were still as alright as they had to be – was even stronger, thus he finally loosened their embrace.

He met more resistance than he expected, but in murmuring something incomprehensible, Sam loosened his iron grip on his brother at last. It was only when Dean flinched in pain rather than inching away smoothly that he understood just why Sam had been holding him like that in the first place – he had been _stabilizing_ him. Dean's right shoulder and neck had felt somewhat sore, but now that he had actually moved them, they sent jolts of pain through his body.

"Careful with that," Sam commented in a sleepy voice, "Took a lot of stitches."

Lying as still as he possibly could to just let the pain subside, Dean took a moment to glower at his brother. Sam, however, did not even seem to notice as he simply rolled over to lie on his back and covered his eyes with his forearm, ready to sleep for another couple of hours.

Sighing, Dean carefully moved to prop himself up by his one good arm. If his brother decided to spoil his view on his face, he could as well try assessing the situation instead of oogling, and, as he slowly craned his neck to make out the details of their room, he noted gratefully that he could still move quite painlessly if he was careful enough.

Releasing another sigh, he sat up at last. Judging by the sun streaming it, they had napped well through the morning. Thanks to yesterday's close call, the room itself was an absolute mess. Bloodied clothes had been dropped unceremoniously on the ground, the first aid kit lay sprawled across the table and sink – and Dean did not even remember how they had gotten back in the first place.

Pondering, he caught sight of his own shirt lying right at his feet. It was torn pretty neatly in some places, and Dean didn't bother checking it more closely. He had already gathered that he had been injured on his neck and shoulder – and given the amount of blood on his shirt, he had probably passed out from blood loss at some point. Thankfully, though, Sam had not only gotten him home somehow, but also patched him up pretty nicely. Moving his shoulder experimentally, Dean glanced down on himself. Sure enough, the bandaging was tight enough, but the wound had still bled through. He should tend to renewing it soon – or maybe he could just get Sam to do it.

Speaking of which...

Glancing over his shoulder, he found Sam still trying to get back to sleep. While he hadn't bothered dressing his brother after treating his wounds, he had changed into his customary sleepwear, so that Dean could barely see any skin beyond his forearm in that moment.

But that forearm was covered in cuts and bruises. And Dean's eyes widened as he finally recalled a particular image – of a werewolf in a dark basement, ready to tear Sam apart.

With its claws embedded into his left shoulder.

Inhaling sharply, Dean turned around just a bit too quickly. His own wounds reminded him of their existence rather excruciatingly, and he hissed in pain.

"I told you to be careful with that," Sam replied tiredly, and, in removing his forearm from his face, he gave up on trying to fall back asleep in favour of blinking at his brother in vague worry.

Their eyes met, and Dean instantly forgot the pain in his neck.

Still only barely awake, squinting at his brother tiredly, Sam looked both adorable and...vulnerable. Much like his forearm, his face was covered in smaller and larger cuts, all of which he hadn't bothered bandaging somehow. More importantly, though, he looked awfully pale...and there was a large bloodstain adorning his shirt around his left shoulder.

Entirely unbidden, Dean felt anger bubbling up inside of him. Saving the day, finishing the mission, patching Dean up without looking after _himself_ – that was such an annoyingly _Sam_ thing to do. Groaning in frustration, he leant over his brother and unceremoniously shoved the left sleeve of his shirt up just enough to catch sight of soaked bandages...that had been _torn apart_.

His eyes widened in confusion. If these bandages had been there before the werewolf had scratched him, then... "What the hell..." he drawled, frozen on the spot as he sought his brother's eyes, _"What is this?"_

Sam blinked back once again before he followed his gaze slowly – and woke up at last. Inhaling deeply, he pushed his brother's hand off his sleeve and frowned back at him. "That's nothing compared to your injuries," he stated firmly as he rolled the sleeve back down and cast a worried glance at his brother's bandaging, "How are you?"

As his wounds forced him back into a proper sitting position, Dean wondered whether to feel endeared by his brother's care or whether to feel infuriated by him hiding a freaking wound for god-knows-how-long. Naturally, he opted for the latter and narrowed his eyes. "I'm cross, Sam," he clarified, and he almost felt a bit guilty to see his brother flinching at his tone. Almost.

"The hunt is over and we're both still alive," Sam countered wearily as he sat up and ran a hand over his face – the right one, mind you, for he was carefully avoiding using his left arm for anything. "And by the way, you're welcome," he added dryly.

Dean bit his lip, and just like that Sam's annoying puppy dog eyes had transformed his anger into guilt. "You need to let me look at this wound," he pointed out at a more pacifying tone and extended a hand, "You treat mine, I treat yours, that's the deal, right?"

Sam looked at his hand for a moment, but turned away at last. "Really, it's not that bad," he assured his brother calmly as he swung his legs off the bed, "I'll just renew the bandaging and it'll be fine." That being said, he stood with renewed vigor, swayed slightly and...

...and he quickly sat down again, looking even paler than before.

Sighing, Dean watched the display in sympathy. "Not that bad, huh?" he repeated, noting once again just how pale his brother looked.

"Just a moment," Sam repeated tiredly as he buried his face in his palm as if that would somehow help him getting over the dizziness.

Sighing, Dean realized that continuing the argument wouldn't do them any good – especially as long as they were both still drained and exhausted. Glancing toward the kitchen, he caught sight of some leftover pizza from the day before and decided it was as good a place to start as any. As he was not willing to challenge his wounds or low blood pressure any more than necessary, he moved deliberately slowly, but finally managed reaching, reheating and carrying his goal in record time – seriously, he doubted anyone had ever taken quite as long for a task as simple as that.

"There you go, slowest pizza delivery ever," he commented with a lop-sided grin as he offered one of the plates to his brother.

But Sam, still sitting on the bed with his head bowed, barely even noticed.

Sighing, Dean sat down next to him and began munching on his own slice. That finally shook Sam from his reverie – or was he really that close to fainting again? – and he accepted his own portion with a small, grateful smile.

And he still looked awfully pale.

For a while, they sat eating silently.

Finally, it was Sam's quiet voice that broke the silence. "We still need to get rid of the corpses," he stated matter-of-factly and heaved a small, unhappy sigh as he pushed his empty plate onto the nightstand, "But I'm afraid I need some more rest." He didn't meet Dean's gaze, but chose to lower his head and close his eyes once again.

"I don't care about the werewolves, and you can sleep as long as you want," Dean pointed out and kept watching his brother very closely, "But we both know you need some treatment _before that_." Sighing softly, he tilted his head and added good-naturedly, "I might even read you a good night story if you behave now."

The jab was lost on Sam as it took a moment for him to even react. For a while, he seemed to glance at his shoulder. Then he met his brother's gaze and sighed at last. "Just...don't be mad about this, okay?" he asked with a light grimace.

"I'll get mad if you keep refusing this, you know." Dean furrowed his brows, and he tried hard not to show just how mad he was getting inside, because the last time his brother had asked this of him...

"_Please don't get mad,"_ Sam had said. And then he had died in his arms.

Inhaling deeply, he shook the memories out of his head and got up to gather some cleaning utensils and the first aid kit in deliberately slow motions. Sam was already frowning at him in worry, but he had given in on the treatment, so he had to stick to his word either way.

By the time he was done, Sam had already taken off his shirt and was hesitantly peeling the torn bandage off his arm.

Now, Dean would probably never grow tired of watching his brother's bare chest even though he had sworn to himself not to pursue that one-sided attraction. But that did not mean he particularly liked what he was seeing. A good part of Sam's chest and arm was still covered in blood, and removing the former bandaging would probably reopen the wound the a certain extent.

On the positive side, though, at least the scratches from last night's hunt did not look that bad per say, but as to the mysterious wound Sam had been hiding from him, well...

Watching his brother growing paler and paler as it was, Dean remembered to take over at last and carefully removed the final bits with the help of a scissor.

And...

He did not even know what to say. Even underneath the scratches, it looked like a weird mixture of a cut and a bite that had already healed somewhat, but rather poorly so, and he could not help repeating his earlier question. "Just what is that?"

Sam closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. "It's an old cut that ripped open at one point," was all he would say.

And Dean furrowed his brows in confusion. Since when had they been hiding their injuries from each other? And, wouldn't he have _noticed_ Sam getting hurt like that – with a cut deep enough to rip open again?

In any case, it wasn't a pretty sight, and Dean set to work quickly. Even though it had partially reopened, the renewed suturing on the older wound still held well enough and the newer cuts wouldn't need any stitches, so as long as Sam didn't choose to pass out on him halfway, he would be done quickly enough.

But as he was cleaning the skin he knew so well yet didn't, he still couldn't keep himself from wondering.

How old was this wound, really? At one point a lifetime ago, Dean had known every inch of that body, and even though all of it had been nothing but an illusion in the end, he vividly remembered one thin, horizontal scar marring his brother's left shoulder.

It had been exactly where a swollen, poorly-healed and deformed cut was glaring back at him in that moment.

After several attempts at bugging him about it, he had finally found out that Sammy – _his_ Sam – had gained that scar on a Wendigo hunt in Utah.

And Dean realized that the same applied to the real Sam.

The only difference was...

He would have done anything for _his_ Sam.

...and he had failed in his duties towards the _real_ Sam because he had been too preoccupied with himself to even notice.

"You agreed not to get mad," Sam pointed out quietly.

Inhaling sharply, Dean realized he had just stopped cleaning the wound at one point and found himself looking right back at his brother. Sam had paled even further, but worse yet – he looked worried. "I'm not mad," Dean assured him quickly, albeit in light annoyance, and resumed working.

Sam did not even bother flinching this time. "I mean, you can be mad at me if you want," he offered quietly, still not willing to let the matter go, "but not at yourself. I know you want to blame yourself, but it's really not your fault."

Frozen anew in his actions, Dean stared back at his brother, and for a moment he hated the guy for knowing him so well. "Then tell me that this," he countered tonelessly and nodded towards his brother's shoulder, "did not rip open when you carried me out of that Dschinn's lair."

Sam heaved a sigh. "It's a small price worth paying," he replied at once and sent his brother a small conciliatory smile, "And if you ask me, it wasn't that bad a deal."

Dean had been about to rant on, but as so irritatingly often, Sam's mere expression served to silence him.

Leave it to Sammy's smiles to brighten the day.

Sighing deeply, Dean finished cleaning the wound and began applying the new bandages at last. "Seriously, though," he continued the discussion at a more moderate tone, "Don't hide something like this from me, okay?" He met his brother's eyes, which were watching him, well, as attentively as possible in his current state. "We're both better off with you healthy," he went on, "and you really don't need to go easy on me."

Sam's expression turned into a frown. "Really?" he asked slowly and hesitated for a moment. "If so," he went on at last, "Can you finally talk about the year you spent in that Dschinn's illusion?"

Dean had been about to wrap the gauze bandage around his brother's arm for the final time.

But then he froze completely.

He could feel Sam's eyes still on him, but this...what was he supposed to say? Certainly, he knew what had happened and what hadn't by now. He had stopped hoping to wake up to a kiss a long time ago.

He wouldn't confuse one world for the other anymore, but that didn't mean he was ready to talk about it.

"Look, let's just leave that in the past, okay?" he began at last, and he kept his gaze glued to his hands as he finished the bandaging unnecessarily slowly, "None of that was ever real to begin with." He seriously wished the topic was closed with that, but he held little hope.

Sam inhaled softly. "It was real to you," he countered at a quiet, sincere voice.

In response, Dean got up from the bed with the excuse of stashing the medical supplies away. If he told his brother, it wouldn't help them. If anything, it would make things harder on them.

And awkward, too.

But Dean's silence wasn't enough of an answer, and Sam pressed on. "If nothing else, I'd like to know what that perfect world of yours was like," he mused as he kept watching his brother and added, "You promised me a good night story, after all."

Furrowing his brows, Dean finally got himself to look at Sam – and he found him arching an eyebrow in challenge.

And just like that, as their eyes locked, he decided that maybe sharing a tidbit wouldn't hurt that much. After all, his brother wasn't asking for the _full_ story this time.

Funnily enough, Sam had always been able to do that – to convince his brother of strange things with a look only. But it had usually only been the puppy dog eyes that worked.

But ever since he had fallen in love with the man, or his alter ego, really, Dean had been even more vulnerable to looks like these. Gentle and light-hearted, with a hint of mischief, Sam was gorgeous.

And convincing.

And so Dean ended up sitting down next to his brother once again and began telling him of a life in a future that would never be.

Of how he had skipped two years.

Of how they had shut the Gates of Hell.

Of how they had retired and lived in peace at long last.

He decided to leave it at that, especially since Sam already knew what had become of the happily-ever-after anyway.

But he hadn't bothered elaborating on how _good_ life had really been.

On how close they had gotten.

On how badly he wished to have that again.

Gulping, he forced his eyes shut and took a deep breath just as Sam chose to reply to his story at last.

"That's amazing," he commented at a soft voice.

Sighing, Dean lowered his head as he tried feebly to keep the sadness from taking over. Sam acting compassionate was the last thing he needed in that moment, for it hit way too close to home. "It was," he admitted quietly and stood up again, "Now get some sleep. You still look like a ghost."

He was about to set off for the bathroom, but his brother's words held him back once again.

"Dean," Sam said quietly, "Thank you, for telling me this."

And his smile was so damn beautiful.

* * *

_Later_

All things considered, Dean wasn't in such a bad shape after all. Sam might have neglected his own wounds the night before, but he had tended to his brother's injuries pretty diligently.

As a result, it was the older brother who ran some errands that day although, technically, he had been hurt more seriously.

But Sam had lost more blood.

They'd have to burn the bodies from their latest – and thankfully not _last_ – hunt at one point, yet if Dean had learnt anything from that close call, it was not to risk even more. He'd just have to wait for his brother to recover to moderate health so they could finish the task together. This way, at least, they wouldn't get ambushed again.

Hopefully.

In any case, the first step was pampering his brother a bit, and frankly, he was kind of looking forward to that, for he rarely ever had an acceptable excuse to do so.

Nonetheless, as he finally returned to the motel with some food and supplies, he wasn't so sure whether his dignity would stand for the freaking salad shake in his hands.

But Sam's shocked expression certainly made up for it. By some miracle, he had finally gotten up within the thirty minutes his brother had been away, and he even looked much healthier. Sans the expression, of course. "You actually bought salad?" he finally drawled incredulously and blinked a couple of times, "I'm still dreaming, is that it?"

Rolling his eyes, Dean tossed the salad in his brother's arms and made a beeline for the kitchenette. "If all your dreams are as exciting as some damn rabbit food, I'm really sorry for you, bro," he commented with a shrug and began unloading the bag. He'd bought more canned goods and microwave food than they'd probably need for their remaining stay in this town, but then again, he wouldn't mind them both taking a few days off to just recover.

"Now that you mention it," Sam mused as he shut his laptop to focus his attention on his brother instead, "I did have a pretty _exciting_ dream earlier."

This time, it was Dean's turn to blink. His brother was teasing him, right? Regardless of the consequences, there really was just one acceptable reply to an implied wet dream: embarassing him just enough to make a cute blush appear on his cheeks. "Well, what are you waiting for?" Dean said at last, "Ten bucks if you give me all the juicy details." He arched an eyebrow.

Sam stared at him in disbelief, and slowly but surely a deep frown was forming on his features. Sure enough, though, he was definitely blushing. But his voice stayed just als calm as before. "You know what?" he replied at last and tilted his head with a speculating expression, "I might even do that – later."

Dean tilted his head with a sly grin. So he would get to see an awesome blush_ and_ hear his brother talking dirty on one day? He must have hit some kind of jackpot.

"For now, though, you'll only get the summary," Sam went on and from one moment to the next, he went from thoughtful to elated, "You see, there was this house, not too small, but just incredibly comfortable."

Furrowing his brows, Dean did not see where this was going. But humouring his brother would work best, so he tried imagining a...house.

"And we were living there," Sam went on and left a dramatic pause, "With regular jobs."

And Dean blinked in confusion.

That's what...

"Sure, we'd still take on the occasional hunt," Sam spoke on, "but beyond that, our lives were just awfully..._regular_."

Sighing deeply, Dean sat down on the other chair at the table his brother was occupying and closed his eyes. "Just to clarify that," he drawled sceptically, "You just called suburbia _exciting_." His tone was disapproving, but after their discussion earlier that day, both knew he actually wanted this kind of thing. What his brother had just described fit Dean's earlier description of a perfect world much too well.

"I just called a peaceful life worth striving for," Sam countered calmly and met his brother's eyes, "We started like this, remember?" He smiled ruefully at the memories. "In the beginning, our aim was to kill the yellow-eyed demon, and we succeeded at last," he spoke softly, "but afterwards, it only got worse. Things came tumbling down all around us, and I guess at one point, we both stopped hoping for a happy end." He halted briefly and motioned around himself. "Even now – damn, we stopped the freaking apocalypse and we still need to keep the world from burning," he ranted and slumped his shoulders at last, "It's like we'll never get to rest like this." He grimaced slightly and finished at a much quieter voice, "But after what you've told me earlier, I'm starting to think that maybe we have a say in the matter after all."

Dean frowned deeply. Was his brother really saying what it sounded like? But... "You don't just quit the life and we both know that," he pointed out a bit more bluntly than intended and lowered his voice, "We can't expect an idea from a dream world to work in reality."

He heard his brother's soft sigh, but he refused to look at him. "But we can still be inspired by it, you know," Sam countered firmly, "I don't think it's a bad idea to slow down once we settle this entire Purgatory mess." He inhaled deeply. "And I wouldn't mind some place to return to, either – a base of operations if you will."

"A batcave," Dean corrected him gruffly, and he, too, heaved a deep sigh. Frankly, he wouldn't mind any of this either. After all, it had been his perfect world for a reason. But that was just the problem. This discussion didn't revolve around any substantial plans about the future, but about the fact he had bothered telling Sam about the year that had never been after all.

Maybe it had been a mistake after all.

"Look," he began gruffly, got up again and fixed his brother in a hard stare, "I appreciate the gesture, but you really don't need to humour me."

Still sitting leisurely on his chair, Sam held his gaze evenly and tilted his head. "Then I can book rooms with separate beds again?" he asked slowly.

And Dean froze on the spot.

He opened his mouth to form any sort of reply, but no words left it. He didn't even know what to say – because this was one of the things they _never_ spoke about. Frankly, he wasn't sure whether he could do without Sam's nightly proximity even after all that time, even after having accepted the compromise he was living with. But that didn't mean he could admit it. "Fine," he grunted at last and stormed back to the kitchen where he had left some badly needed junkfood earlier.

Behind him, he heard Sam getting up with a frustrated sigh, but he just couldn't be bothered. Damn the kid for ruining their silent agreement. And damn him for making Dean realize that his latest injuries were nothing compared to the deprivation of something he badly needed.

To be honest, he was surprised Sam had put up with it as long as that anyway. On top of that, he hadn't even mentioned it once – until now, that is. Maybe Dean should have seen it coming. Maybe he should have expected Sam would want to end their peculiar sleeping arrangement at one point.

"Even if it was fine with you," he heard Sam speaking up again, "It wouldn't be fine with me, you know."

_...what?_

Dean stared at the burger he had just unwrapped for full five seconds before looking up to find his brother leaning against a pillar by the fridge, watching him with a light frown.

"I think I finally figured out the last part of the puzzle," Sam announced quietly, and with with the giant blocking the only escape route, Dean was starting to feel uncomfortable under his brother's intent stare.

"The Dschinn got you to fall for me because I – the _other me_ – was deeply in love with you from the very beginning," Sam reasoned.

And all the blood drained from Dean's face.

"...what?" he croaked – and he thought the same.

Suddenly, his entire vocabulary had been reduced to that one word.

_What?_

What was going on? What was Sam thinking – what was he saying?

How the fuck had he found out?

Dean was far from done stomaching that revelation when Sam, damn, annoying, adorable Sam, did yet another thing that set his mind on edge.

He freaking _smiled_.

And it wasn't a grin or a sneer – it was that tiny, sincere smile that looked so absolutely gorgeous on him.

In that moment, Dean hated him for it.

But for better or for worse, Sam must have chosen this particular moment to live out his sadistic streak – because rather than just ending the torture, he stepped right into his brother's personal space. "You do realize that scheme works in both directions, don't you?" he whispered.

Dean's eyes widened, but he didn't get the time to process the full meaning behind those words, let alone to voice a reply.

All of a sudden, Sam was leaning down, taking his brother's breath away both figuratively...

He pressed his lips against Dean's.

...and literally.

For several seconds, the world seemed to be stopping around them.

Dean's heart, too, skipped a beat.

...or several.

Suddenly, he wasn't so sure anymore if he wasn't dreaming or hallucinating after all. But Sam was here, holding him, kissing him.

And Dean's body reacted automatically, regardless of the blank his mind was drawing.

He had been wanting this.

He had been needing this.

And he couldn't believe just how amazing a simple kiss could be.

They broke apart sooner than he liked, and, just like the kiss, the magic of the moment vanished as soon as it had come.

Suddenly, Dean found himself staring at his brother again, facing a disarming smile and a surreal situation he still couldn't handle.

"We can make this work," Sam told him quietly and squeezed his brother's forearm reassuringly.

But Dean could only look at the hand on his forearm that must have found its way there without him even noticing. He'd learnt the hard way to tell the difference between illusion, dreams and reality.

He'd learnt the hard way that _this_ couldn't possibly be happening. Sam might have found out, but he would never agree to this. Not like this. Not at all.

Unless...

Inhaling deeply, Dean tried calming down. "I told you," he spoke, defeated, "you don't need to keep humouring me." He turned his head away, looking at anything but his brother, "Laugh at me, or condemn me, or whatever, just don't do..." He shook his head and closed his eyes. _"...this."_

Sam made a small strangled noise, but Dean couldn't get himself to look up. "I don't kiss people to humour them," Sam pointed out quietly and took a hesitant step back, "If you honestly feel that _this_ isn't worth a try, then I'll respect that, but..." He gulped and trailed off, and all of a sudden, he didn't seem all that sure anymore.

A seemingly endless silence passed between the brothers. While Dean's still was a mess trying and failing to process the new development, Sam might even be struggling equally hard as he settled for his former spot against the pillar with his arms crossed in front of him.

"You looked happy, you know," Sam tried again, "When you woke up from the illusion, or earlier, when you talked about your retirement..." He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. "I don't even think I've ever seen you as genuinely happy as that before." He puffed out his breath. "Can you really blame me for wanting to see that expression more often?"

Finally, Dean found it in him to meet his brother's eyes. "Not at the price of your own happiness, Sammy," he croaked wearily and slumped his shoulders, "Look, I know I'm messed up and I can't fix that, but that's my problem and mine only." His voice grew more quiet. "You don't have to go to such lengths just to help me out of this."

Sam sighed again. "I'm not helping you, Dean," he argued, "I'm helping _both of us_. Don't you see it?" He motioned around himself, as if there was anything else worth looking at. "Us building a home, _together,_" he spoke and began talking a mile a minute, "With its cruel appetite, the Dschinn has actually shown us a possibility to turn this bloody mess of a world into a good place, for us at least." He paused briefly, if only to catch his breath. "I don't know about you," he finished and looked at his brother in a mixture of hope and madness, "But I want to, no, I need to have some kind of happy end to look forward to and..." He gulped, "...and I can't imagine any kind of happy end without you in it, Dean."

Again, the older brother stood baffled, and for once, Sam's puppy dog eyes were even more efficient than his smiles had been.

Slowly but surely, Dean started seeing it.

That his brother had put even more thought into this than he had ever dared to.

Slowly, but surely, he found himself reaching out, tracing that jaw line with the light stubble of his brother's unshaven beard underneath his fingertips.

Could it be true?

Could the affection he had tried, and failed, to hide from his brother be reciprocated after all?

"Let me be the one you need me to be, Dean," Sam added softly as he rested his own hand on his brother's one.

And finally, Dean no longer questioned it.

It might be another illusion or a dream.

But it might be real as well.

Either way, Sam, _his Sammy_, was asking him a favour.

So of course Dean would eventually pull his brother closer to deliver the late reply to their earlier encounter with an even deeper kiss.

He had always been hilariously bad at denying his Sammy anything anyway.

2.6 Confrontation - End


	12. 2-7 Routine

Notes: This is a large update - spanning chapters **2.4 to 2.7**, so if you've been up-to-date so far, you'll want to start reading the rest at 2.4 (which equals Chapter 9)

* * *

**2.7 Routine**

_Few weeks later, with Dean._

Something was...different.

Wiggling his tongue, he tried placing that vaguely familiar taste that still came absolutely unexpected.

Needless to say, Sam ended their kiss by pushing his brother away brusquely. "What the hell, Dean," he exclaimed in disgust and he wiped some saliva off his lips, "that's gross!"

Frowning, Dean stumbled a few paces back to offer his brother the freedom he'd otherwise take by force anyway. Frankly, he was surprised the guy had waited so long anyway. After all, in exploring it almost agonizingly slowly, he had basically raped Sam's mouth just now.

And he didn't regret a thing. The premature end to a steamy apres-hunt makeout session was something to be regretted, certainly, but he had a more important mission to pursue.

After he had been deprived of these kisses for so long, he enjoyed every single one immensely. But just as they were amazing him greatly, they were confusing him to the same extent.

Something was different, and he couldn't quite pinpoint what.

But he needed to know.

More accurately, he needed to _find out_ – but his test subject was still glaring daggers at him and released an agitated sigh that usually preceded him storming off.

Dean's frown deepened. He couldn't have that, now, could he?

Thus, he voiced the first thought that came to his mind. "You're using a different toothepaste."

All anger forgotten, Sam blinked back in confusion. "We're using the _same_ toothepaste, Dean," he informed his brother sceptically. "And it's been the same brand for years now," he added.

Dean's frown deepened.

Then what...?

Sam's sigh shook him out of his musings, and Dean realized in confusion his brother's expression had turned compassionate. "You'll have to accept at one point that me and _him_..." he spoke quietly and closed his eyes, "...might as well be two different persons whenever it comes to things you just never knew about me."

Releasing a sigh of his own, Dean crossed his arms in front of him. He knew that, heck, it wasn't even the first time Sam had pointed that out. After all, the Dschinn modeled that world mostly based on Dean's memories.

And frankly, he had never kissed Sam before.

So of course his Sam and this Sam had to be different in some aspects. The problem was – in spite of it all, he still missed _his_ Sam. But he loved _this_ Sam just as much.

And...

_This_ Sam was _his_ Sam, too.

Burying his hands in his hair, Dean groaned in frustration.

He knew there had to be a difference – he'd just like to be able to detect them.

Because he was getting much more confused than he'd like to. Based on the other Sam's preferences, he would assume things about _this_ Sam.

But there were countless differences, which, in turn, made things both frustrating and _exciting_ in another way entirely.

As opposed to his alter ego, this Sam hated cuddling in the morning. Heck, he wasn't much of a cuddling person in general.

In a situation like this one, with Dean mulling over things that even he knew were only getting him frustrated, the other Sam would have pulled him aside and calmed him down with a few logical and well-worded arguments.

This Sam, on the other hand...

"Look, Dean," he announced irritably as he jumped off the table and buttoned his shirt, "You knew what you signed up for, so don't even dare making me jealous of another version of me you never even bother telling me about."

This Sam was running out of patience much more quickly.

Grimacing, Dean noted the danger too late. "Look, Sam," he tried reasoning, "You knew what you signed up for, as well. You know I'm..." His voice dropped. "...damaged."

Sighing, Sam put a hand on his brother's shoulder. "We both are," he countered wearily and raised an eyebrow, "and _this_ is supposed to help both of us."

"It does," Dean agreed quickly and sighed once more, "But..." He trailed off.

"Look, we're not talking about some ex-boyfriend of yours," Sam went on and frowned in thought, "Just...treat me like he treated you." He tilted his head, pondering. "I lost a whole year anyway and only got bits and pieces back, so we might as well assume that everything between you and the other me really happened and I just...don't remember."

As the words poured out of Sam's mouth, Dean's eyes widened gradually.

What was the idiot saying? This Sam and that Sam, they weren't the same person, they were differe –

"That'll make it easier on both of us, at least," Sam reasoned with a shrug, "You'll have to remind me what you liked or disliked about our previous relationship, and in that you can sort this our for yourself as well."

Inhaling deeply, Dean finally gave this an actual thought. Sam had a point, it would make things easier on him, but...he had spent an entire year trapped in an illusion, and he wasn't ready to remedy that with yet another bit of self-delusion.

...was he?

"As for me," Sam went on and suddenly inched closer again. "Once I...remember...what things used to be like," he mused and his voice dropped to a mere whisper, "I might reconsider keeping you some company in the mornings, who knows?"

Inhaling deeply, Dean surrendered at last. "For starters," he replied good-naturedly and arched an eyebrow, "You weren't quite as moody _back then_."

For a moment, Sam seemed ready to pull a bitchface. But instead, one of those hilariously gorgeous grins formed on his features as he acknowledged the meaning behind his brother's words. "Too bad that moodiness got you a present you won't want to miss ever again, huh?" he commented with a nod towards their bags.

Dean's eyebrows furrowed as he followed his brother's gaze.

Sam, meanwhile, used his brother's movement to whisper directly into his ear, "I do know what kind of porn you're watching on my laptop, you know."

Dean went absolutely still.

And from one second to the other, he was excited again.

The other Sam had been sweet, kind and caring. He had been perfect.

This Sam, meanwhile, still cared just as much, but in a rougher manner. Excitingly enough, his comparative moodiness brought along a kind of passion Dean would never have expected of his brother. Sam initiated their make-out sessions surprisingly often.

And he was the kinkiest thing Dean had ever seen.

So even if he wasn't the same person Dean had initially fallen in love with...

This Sam was just as perfect.

Regardless of the circumstances, regardless of the scars both of them were carrying, Dean would make sure to appreciate the gift they had been given every single day.

Reaching out, he wrapped his arms around his brother, he pulled him into a kiss. A proper kiss, not a probing one.

A promise.

He'd known they would be good together.

But he would make sure it would be _perfect_.

* * *

_Six months later, with Sam_

"So, what have we got?" Dean asked as he turned the stereo off when his brother entered the car with the purchases in his hand and a frown on his face.

They were on their way to Bobby's and had made a brief stop for some fuel and energy drinks in Vermillion, South Dakota, roughly an hour away from their destination. But considering Sam had brought a newspaper along with an overdose of caffeine, it didn't look as if they would reach Bobby's today after all.

"A mechanic died after getting crushed under a car," Sam stated and handed his brother the folded newspaper.

"So what?" Dean drawled as he looked at a seemingly harmless picture of the garage the incident had taken place at, "Accidents happen."

Sam tilted his head. "Look at the witness reports," he spoke and pointed at one paragraph in particular. "His coworkers were present, and they both swear they heard screaming before the car crashed down. On top of that..."

"...they were both practically freezing," Dean finished upon reading the relevant bit.

"On a 100° F day," Sam added.

Sighing, Dean tossed the newspaper back into his brother's lap. "Let's check out that garage, then."

* * *

_Later_

They arrived at the scene shortly after, but as he exited the Impala, Dean's attention drifted off the case in an instant.

"Woah," he exclaimed in barely disguised amazement as he rounded his own car in order to appreciate the one next to it, "Baby, say hello to you sister."

Frowning, Sam followed his brother's gaze to the light blue classic car. Considering its age, it was in a surprisingly good shape, but he really couldn't see just what Dean got so excited about.

"Chevvy Bel Air Sedan, 1961," a voice greeted them from behind them. Turning his head around, Sam caught sight of an elderly man approaching them with a good-natured grin on his features. "I see you got taste," the man added with a nod towards the Impala.

Dean replied with a grin. "Takes one to know one, eh?" he replied and gestured towards the car repair shop, "You work here?"

"I'm the owner, Hank Reynolds," the man replied and followed Dean's gaze with a heartfelt sigh, "Unfortunately, the garage is closed until further notice, so I'm afraid I won't be able to help you much."

"Actually, we're here because we'd like to know what happened to Marc Stevens," Sam piped up, sensing his chance to steer the discussion back towards the case, "Can you tell us what happened?"

* * *

_Later, with Dean._

In the end, it all boiled down to a pretty simple salt'n'burn. As it turned out, the dead mechanic had been the widower to a possessive wife that had never quite considered resting in peace. When he had finally decided to marry again, the ghost of his wife had decided she'd rather kill him than see him happy with another woman.

Naturally, the ghost had targeted the fiancee next, but thankfully they had gotten it just in time.

Altogether, nobody else had been hurt.

But thanks to an infuriated ghost and an unfortunate parking spot, the Chevvy Bel Air hadn't quite made it unscathed.

"That's a shame," Dean grumbled as he looked from a large bump in the hood to the broken windshield and finally met the eyes of Hank who was mourning the damage next to him, "But I'm sure you'll get that patched up quickly enough."

But the garage's owner shook his head with a sigh. "I'm too old for that," he spoke wistfully, "and even if that...ghost...is taken care of now, I doubt my men are going to come back. The circumstances of Marc's death hit them all pretty hard, and they quit immediately after."

Dean furrowed his brows. "So you're shutting everything down, just like that?" he summarized skeptically and cast a longing glance at all the other top-shape oldtimers gathered in the yard.

"The business was running quite well," Hank agreed and trailed off.

Puffing his breath out, Dean took a moment to consider the situation. "Tell you what," he began slowly and sought his brother's eyes. "Me and my partner, we've been considering a...less hectic lifestyle lately."

Sam, who had been vaguely following the conversation so far, frowned back in confusion.

But Dean just kept talking. "So how about this: You give me a job with some...extended liberties," he offered and patted the Bel Air in front of him affectionately, "And I help you getting your shop and this baby back into top shape in no time."

Needless to say, Hank was both baffled and touched. Especially since they had started on good terms from the very beginning, he accepted Dean's offer right away.

The real problem was getting _Sam_ to agree.

"Dean, what the hell?" the younger hunter demanded as soon as he had managed pulling his brother out of sight and earshot without being too impolite about it, "You – and a regular job? In Vermillion? Shouldn't we at least talk about this option before –"

A pair of lips on his own kept him from finishing his sentence, and when Dean released him after a while, he looked even more agitated. "I told you not to do th – " Sam reminded his brother for the thousandth time, and was shushed anew.

"Look, you're really not giving me another choice," Dean pointed out quickly just so Sam couldn't talk himself into yet another tirade, "You mentioned more than once that you want something more out of life than one hunt after the other. So here I am – " He shrugged. "– paving the way."

Narrowing his eyes, Sam regarded him quietly for a moment. Finally, though, his shoulders slumped and his anger subsided. "I didn't think you were serious when you said we _could_," he admitted at last.

"Come on," Dean argued and threw his hands in the air, "We helped Cas defeat Raphael, Crowley's burnt his slimy fingers on the portals to Purgatory once and for all, and best of it all..." He tapped his brother's forehead, "You're still in one piece and your wall is still standing."

Sam furrowed his brows. "Of course it is," he spoke slowly and watched his brother cautiously, "Why wouldn't it be?"

Dean grimaced and wondered whether to disclose this particular piece of information.

"I've been having flashbacks, but the thing is more solid than anything," Sam went on and reasoned a bit too well for his own good, "So something happened in the Dschinn's illusion?"

Dean's grimace widened. Damn his brother for being so observant. "I didn't experience that firsthand," he admitted and recalled a particular conversation with a lover from long ago, "Cas broke you."

Sam heaved a sigh.

Shaking his head, Dean tried to dismiss the unpleasant thoughts and get back to his original line of argumentation. "What I'm saying is – there's no better time to get out than now, don't you think?" he suggested with a welcoming grin, "I mean, obviously we still gotta stay sharp, with our kind of enemies. But I no longer think there's no compromise."

Sam's stern expression softened into a small smile. "You _are_ serious about this," he summarized in a mixture of disbelief and awe.

Dean grinned back sheepishly. "And I just so happen to know that you could finish your pre-law at the University of South Dakota without having to redo the first years."

Sam's eyes went wide with disbelief, and although he opened his mouth to reply, it took him a long time to actually do. "This is a big step, Dean," he pointed out, "If we really want this to work, we'll have to plan it more thoroughly."

As he felt his own enthusiasm fading slightly, Dean heaved a sigh. "If you ask me, there's only one real question we need to think about," he countered and stepped closer so he could continue at a lower voice, "Do we want people to know us as brothers..." Producing a tiny box from his pocket, he finished the sentence at a mere whisper, "...or can I finally put a flashy ring around your finger, bitch?" Just as he flipped the box open to reveal two intricate golden rings, Sam froze completely.

And Dean knew he had won.

A long moment of silence followed, and Sam finally rediscovered his own voice. "You dated God knows how many women," he replied at last and met his brother's eyes with an incredulous expression, "and you can't think of a more appropriate way to ask?"

Stepping back again, Dean shrugged weakly. "Don't tell me you actually want a fancy candle-light dinner or, I don't know, a public proposal," he countered with a frown, "I mean, you may be great at bitching, but one of the good things about you is that you are still not quite as complicated as a woman."

Rolling his eyes, Sam heaved a sigh. "You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?" he drawled, "You ruin the mood because –" His eyes widened. "You're _ashamed_ to say something nice."

Frowning, Dean opened his mouth to protest, but this time it was him to be silenced with a kiss.

"Maybe you should just let me do the talking now," Sam suggested and finally allowed himself to smile. "I love you, Dean," he announced softly, "and I think Vermillion is a nice place for newly-weds."

Grinning, Dean slipped the first ring on Sam's finger. "Good choice," he agreed with a fond smile and tilted his head, "Though I'm afraid we'll yet have to find a state that would allow brothers to marry."

Chuckling, Sam took the second ring from the box and put it on Dean's finger. "You wouldn't be too comfortable in a wedding dress anyway," he joked softly and did not even allow his brother to defend his dignity as he spoke on right away, "Really, you're mine and I'm yours." Closing the remaining distance between them, he wrapped his arms around his brother. "And that is all that matters."

The stood like this for a moment, staring into each other's eyes, listening to each other's heartbeat.

Finally, the sealed their promise with a kiss.

They broke apart at last, and this time it was Dean, smiling _happily_, who broke the silence. "Now you'll never get rid of me," he commented light-heartedly.

Sam only chuckled in response. "I wouldn't want to," he assured his brother as he readjusted his hair and clothes and turned back toward the car repair shop so they could deliver their final answer to Hank.

But Dean held him back by the wrist. "Sammy," he said throatily.

Turning back, the younger brother arched an eyebrow. "What?" he asked.

Closing the distance, Dean pulled his husband into another embrace.

Another kiss.

"I love you too, man."

* * *

_Later_

As the stars were shining brightly in the sky, only the sound of cicadas chirping disrupted the silence of a peaceful autumn evening.

The motel room offered a small yet cosy balcony that was nothing short of perfect for a good, old-fashioned beer after work.

Altogether, it might have become a nice evening.

But Sam and Dean had finally decided to take the next step – to live their lives to the fullest.

_Together._

So no, it wasn't just a nice evening.

It was _perfect_.

* * *

2.7 Routine: End

* * *

**_Notes:_** So they arrived at their own happy end - again. And this time, for good.

(...that is, hopefully, for in this real world, Sam still doesn't even remember the cage, which might be good and bad at the same time.)

Either way, this outer story diverges from the canon plot in the late season 6 already, so they might not have the bunker to, err, cuddle at, but at least they have a few traumatic events less to stomach. Also, Bobby lives, hurray :)

If you want more details on how they ended up preventing Cas' betrayal and stopping Purgatory from being opened in the first place, that's actually covered in the fourth chapter of "A Supernatural Infatuation" and happens in the six months timeskip above.

So altogether, we're basically through with the plot now.

So...what was the point of this story? There's lots and lots of possible ways to establish Wincest on some grounds - but the interesting thing here is that Sam and Dean end up falling for each other in turn without either of them lighting the first spark per say, but simply because both can't bear seeing the other unhappy.

And even if they never really considered each other as a dating option before, their need to protect each other is stronger than, well, anything.

There'll be a bit of an epilogue, set some time later from an outsider's point of view, at one point, but I haven't finished that yet and picked up a new plot bunny by now.

So, for now...

I hope you enjoyed reading this, and even though this story has been somewhat cursed from the beginning, I'll still be grateful for any kind of feedback. Thank you!


	13. 2-8 Ever After

**Notes: **So the other day I found a flyer on a summer law school in my lecture room and realized I still owe you guys that one homely additional chapter. Then again, I would've probably been too lazy anyway if it weren't for those great people who've expressed their support one way or the other. So this is especially to Ansgard and ShadowsDaughter, but of course also to anyone who's enjoyed this story so far. Thank you all very much for reading!

* * *

**2.8 Ever After  
**

_2014, with one of Sam's fellow students_

As he set one foot in front of the other, Brian felt himself getting nervous.

Walking next to him, his friend Linda cast a slightly worried glance at him. "What's wrong?" she asked slowly and wrinkled her brow, "Please tell me you didn't forget to do your part of the report. We only got until Friday, remember?"

Inhaling deeply, he grabbed his bag a bit more tightly. "Don't worry," he assured her, "We'll finish the project today." Grimacing lightly, he bit his lip. "Unless..." he began, but trailed off at last.

She raised an eyebrow. "Unless what?"

Inhaling deeply, he stared at his feet and could no longer get himself to move them. "You know how nervous I get around beautiful women I barely even know," he admitted hesitantly and tried hard not think about the ex-wife that had left him with that particular aspect to his social anxiety in the first place.

Blinking, Linda opened her mouth and closed it again.

"Everyone keeps saying that Sam's wife is just smoking hot," he went on miserably, "and I'm not so sure whether I can take that."

For an excruciating moment, Linda just kept blinking in confusion. "Wait, you don't..." she asked at last, tilted her head in light amusement and corrected her wording quickly, "You've never met?"

Nodding slowly, he kept staring at his feet, and it only made him feel more insecure about this entire affair.

Together with Linda and Sam, Brian had spent the last few weeks at the library as they were working their way through several case studies in order to finish the last group project of their pre-law education.

Today, however, the library was closed to the public due to renovations and Sam had offered his own living room as a replacement.

But that would be the living room of the house he was living in with a _freakishly hot wife_ Brian had already heard the wildest stories about.

Gulping, Brian took a breath, and Linda finally chose to offer him some assurance. "Look, _she_'s a really great person, so don't worry," she told him with a tiny grin and tilted her head, "And if you're still nervous, let's just pick up some pie on the way as an ice breaker. She loves pie."

Sighing, Brian accepted it was a plan at least. Thus, he finally resumed dragging his feet forward against his will, but he couldn't stop cursing himself for accepting Sam's offer so easily. He should have realized what kind of predicament it would leave him in.

* * *

Sam welcomed them into a house full of peculiarities.

"The living room's right down the corridor," he told them and motioned towards a simple wooden door, "Just make yourselves at home."

Not intending to try his host's patience, Brian followed him – but he did not exactly hurry either, as he just couldn't keep himself from looking around and noticing all kinds of smaller or larger curiosities.

Of course he vaguely remembered that someone had at one point told him that Sam and his wife were great fans of the Supernatural books by Carver Edlund. Heck, after Linda had brought the books one day with a wide grin on her face, he had devoured all them in record time.

But even though he had enjoyed the stories greatly, well... he wouldn't go as far as to install a groove filled with salt just past the doorsill. Neither would he decorate his corridor with guns of any kind – and he seriously _hoped_ those were props.

So maybe he had intended to start working right away, but as he entered the living room with some delay and caught sight of a few shelves full of old tomes and what looked like...herbs...he couldn't bite back a comment after all, "Man, I wouldn't even be surprised if you could do the _long_ version of the exorcism spell."

Sam, who had been busy gathering drinks on the table, looked up at him. "Well, yeah, but it's not much more efficient than any shorter one," he pointed out with a shrug and set the glasses down at last.

"Though it doesn't look like you'd need to exorcise anyone today, eh," Linda added with a grin and nodded towards the ceiling.

Following her gaze, Brian squinted at varying shades of white and grey – and he startled when he found himself standing underneath a giant freaking devil's trap. "Holy shit," he exclaimed and stumbled back several paces.

Sighing softly, Sam sent him an apologetic look. "I hope you don't mind the precautions," he commented weakly and shrugged, "This kind of thing has become a bit of a tradition."

Taking another few deep breaths, Brian recovered from the shock at last. "Ah, it was just, unexpected," he admitted and took another look at the ceiling, "Seriously, I can't believe you'd be such huge fans."

Sam smiled weakly, but it was Linda who spoke again. "Apropos, where's your better half anyway?"

"Working late today," Sam offered, "At least we'll get something done that way."

While Brian had silently glowered at Linda for bringing up the dreaded topic, he was now releasing a breath he hadn't even known he'd been holding.

With some luck, he'd get around his social anxiety after all.

* * *

"So I guess we got it," Sam announced some hours later and hit the 'save' button on the document, "Written report, done."

"Nice," Linda commented and leant back, stretching after several hours of sitting, "and it didn't take that long, too."

Frowning, Brian followed her gaze to the clock. They had been so busy he had barely even noticed the time passing.

And it was well past 8 pm already.

"You guys wanna stay for dinner?" Sam offered as he shut down the computer, "We got the ingredients for either burgers or..." Frowning, he furrowed his brows. "Burgers, I guess - with some salad, if we're lucky."

Chuckling, Linda grinned. "I'd love some burgers," she announced and looked at the last member of their group, "How about you?"

Smiling weakly, Brian inched back a bit. He really wouldn't mind spending some time with the two of them, especially since it distracted him well enough from the less pleasant aspects of his life – but then again, if he stayed much longer, his luck was sure to run out on him and he'd have to meet Mrs Winchester after all.

And he'd rather spend the night lonely than awkward and terrified.

Thus, he finally stood up from the couch with an apologetic expression. "Thanks," he began and nodded towards the closed laptop, "but I guess I'll go home and get the final proofreading taken care of."

Sam furrowed his brows, as if to object that Brian could do that as well here. Then again, he was sensitive enough to at least catch a bit of the subtext. "All right, I guess," he drawled at last and reached over to turn the computer on again, "I'll send you the file right away."

Smiling gratefully, Brian stuffed his notes into his bag and internally beamed at his own luck.

Then, however, he heard a car pulling up in the driveway, and he froze on the spot.

_Shit._

Still oblivious to Brian's little problem, Sam stood up as well. "Ah, good timing," he commented and left the living room to meet his spouse at the door, "Be right back."

For the briefest moment, Brian considered escaping through the window, but Linda's warning gaze quickly reminded him that this wouldn't be a socially acceptable option.

To make things even worse, the silence that settled between them allowed them to hear everything that was going on in the corridor, especially since Sam had not bothered closing the door behind him.

Far too soon, Brian heard the front door opening and closing, followed by some shuffling and Sam's soft greeting, "Welcome back."

"Huh," an unfamiliar, _male_ voice replied slowly, and Brian briefly wondered whether Sam had ended up inviting his brother as well. Then, however, the newcomer continued speaking at a lower voice. "Is that an EMF-meter in your trousers," he _purred_, "or are you just happy to see me?"

If Brian hadn't already been rooted to the spot, he'd certainly have frozen now.

Sam's wife...was a _man_?

Worse yet, the discussion in the corridor...was certainly not one he was supposed to hear. At least, Brian wasn't the only one outright embarrassed to eavesdrop on such a conversation – blushing quickly, Linda looked absolutely nonplussed.

And judging from the slightly strangled noise from the hallway, Sam was at least flustered, too. "Dean," he warned at a low voice once he had finally regained his composure, "we got _guests_, man."

Brian's eyes went wide. His name was Dean? As in, Sam and Dean – _seriously?_

"Oh, right, you mentioned that," Dean replied in a rather sheepish tone, "Seriously, though, the EMF-meter's picking something up."

Another brief silence settled, and Brian wondered what that was about. The EMF-meter – that was the gadget used in the Supernatural books to detect electromagnetic fields as radiated by, what, ghosts? Sure enough, now that it had been mentioned he could indeed hear something beeping at an unnervingly high pitch.

...what the hell?

Frankly, he was confused on several levels at once, and as he glanced over at his friend to get some sort of answer, he was even more disturbed to find her grinning like a madwoman.

No, strike that, she was grinning like a _freaking fangirl_.

"I've been dying to witness them LARPing," she whispered giddily, and Brian found himself, once again, at a loss of words.

Before he could even consider stomaching the sudden awkwardness, he found the reason for his bewilderment already standing in the doorway.

And it didn't even come as a surprise that Dean looked every bit the way Brian would have expected after reading the books – with a three-day stubble and a gloomy expression, he was towering in the doorway looking both hilariously cool and freaking intimidating.

"Yo, Linda," he greeted the girl with a curt nod, "You brought anything strange today?"

Frowning, and apparently already used to his manner after the few times they had met before, Linda took a moment to consider his words and shrugged at last, "Nothing I didn't bring last time, I guess," she reported dutifully, and in spite of all that, the freaking fangirl kept grinning to herself, "Good to see you, Dean."

Grunting, Dean acknowledged her greeting with another frown at the beeping gadget in his hands. "So that means," he drawled at a low voice, and much to Brian's horror, it was suddenly him Dean's attention was focused on, "that you're the one that brought a freaking ghost into my home."

Opening his mouth and closing it again, Brian shrunk back under the other man's merciless stare. He still had no idea what exactly was happening, or whether he was supposed to play along or whatever, really.

Because slowly but surely, he felt like fainting.

But... as he noticed himself gripping his bag extra tightly, he realized he might still have one way left to get out of this affair with his sanity still intact.

"I don't know about the ghost," he croaked at a hilariously high-pitched voice and pulled his latest purchase from his bag's front pocket, "but I brought you pie."

And just like that, Dean's terrifying scowl turned appreciative, "Awesome."

Still standing on shaky legs, Brian handed the pie over weakly. After crossing the distance between them, Dean accepted the gift and placed it along with the strange gadget on the armchair's backrest in order to extend his right hand at last. "I'm Dean, by the way," he introduced himself.

Shaking the man's hand hilariously weakly, the student offered his own name in a strangled voice, "Brian."

Nodding, Dean let got of his hand at last. "Any friend of Sammy's welcome here, I guess," he stated with a brief frown at the alleged EMF-meter that had ceased beeping in the meantime and added, "unless you get him hurt, in which case I wouldn't hesitate to – "

"Dean," Sam interrupted him as he re-entered the room and came to Brian's rescue at long last, _"Behave."_

For a moment, Dean's frown deepened, but he quickly gave in with a sigh. "Sorry," he grunted, probably to keep up the domestic peace rather than anything else. He clapped his hands, "So I take it you're joining us for dinner today?"

Brian opened his mouth to reply, but no words came out. He had already used up all his courage, and although it had become benevolent at one point, Dean's gaze was still lingering on him.

He really couldn't get himself to decline - not anymore.

So maybe he had been afraid of meeting some hot chick, but as it turned out Dean Winchester could be just as intimidating as any woman Brian had ever met.

* * *

"You didn't know I'm married to another man, did you?"

Blinking, Brian halted in cutting the tomatoes and looked at his friend.

"I kinda thought it was public knowledge by now," Sam added sheepishly as he dropped the chopped green salad into the bowl.

"I guess I didn't see that coming, yeah," Brian answered at last.

"He's a bit too straightforward at times, don't let that get to you," Sam advised and reached over the counter to continue with the cucumbers.

Smiling weakly, Brian tried to find any polite way of phrasing just how much that first encounter had shaken him up. Certainly, Dean was acting friendly enough now – and seeing him talking to Linda amicably on the other end of the kitchen confirmed that _second_ impression Brian had got of the man rather than the first.

But that didn't mean Brian would leave Sam's side during his stay at this house voluntarily.

"I guess I see now why you two can identify so well with the Supernatural books," Brian commented, both to keep the conversation and also to find out what the whole fanboy business was really about, "you're really a lot like the Sam and Dean there." He frowned, "Sans the domestic cooking and the marriage, I guess."

Chuckling softly, Sam shrugged. "I guess you could say those books kept us together in some sense," he admitted in a fond tone.

And for better or for worse, Brian couldn't help feeling both happy for those two...and a bit envious as well. "So it hasn't always been easy, huh?" he deduced from his friend's wording.

"Well, it's never been easy," Sam replied with a glance at his husband, and frankly, Brian was not that surprised. The two men were very different in character, and from his limited experiences, it would take a lot of effort on both sides to find a harmonic way of living together.

Especially if you included Dean's apparent temper in the equation.

But as he was pondering over his next words, Sam did not look troubled at whatever problems the two of them had faced in the past. He looked _serene_. "We've been through a lot," he elaborated at last and his smile widened ever so slightly, "But we reached our own happy end at last, and I wouldn't trade that for the world."

For a moment, Brian watched his friend wordlessly, astonished at the fact that anyone their age could even find a kind of happiness like that. He himself had been let down way too often throughout his life, and he didn't even know what to say.

Thankfully, he was relieved of that burden as the window was trust open by a surprisingly strong gust of wind, making everybody look up in surprise.

Then again, hadn't it been a mild summer evening earlier?

"That..." Sam began with wide eyes, but he trailed off when something else joined the howling of the wind.

Placed safely between rice and popcorn on a shelf nearby, the EMF-meter resumed beeping shrilly.

And Dean heaved a sigh.

"See?" he told his husband with a pointed look, "I told you there's _something_ here."

Frowning, Sam glanced across the room as if he was actually expecting to catch sight of something that could not really be there. "But it's barely even noticeable," he noted and, as if to stress his words, the EMF-meter went quiet again. Sam's frown deepened and he added, "Looks like it's only reacting to, well, love stories."

Everyone in the room blinked at him – although probably for different reasons.

"Okay, I get it," Brian drawled as soon as his initial confusion had set down and nodded towards the alleged EMF-meter, "You got a thunderstorm detector and use that for spontaneous LARPing."

Dean's gaze darkened, but Sam hushed him with a warning look. "Something along those lines," the taller man evaded the question and tilted his head, "You mind playing along?" His gaze wandered to Linda, who was wearing that silly grin again, "Linda's been bugging me to, anyway."

Blinking, Brian looked from one of his friends to the other.

So okay, maybe he'd been had by the unexpected nature of the thing, but then again, he had read online how much fun LARPing could be.

Also, he'd already been scared out of his mind several times that day, and he doubted that would happen again. In any case, warming up to Sam's husband might ease the tension on all of them, so he slowly nodded at last.

Things couldn't get much weirder, right?

"Awesome," Dean replied with a frown at his husband as he walked to the window and closed it at last – but not without renewing the salt line carved into the windowsill, mind you.

Brian, meanwhile, spent the time trying to adjust to the roleplay that had already started earlier that evening. "So let me get this straight," he drawled with a look at Sam and leant against the counter, "we got a...ghost and I somehow brought it along."

"Also, it reacts to love stories," Linda added, already way too enthusiastic about the role play.

"An ex-girlfriend, maybe?" Sam asked, "I'm sorry to ask that, but did any of the girls you dated die recently?"

Frowning, Brian chuckled at last. "I never really had a proper girlfriend as such," he offered truthfully, "My luck with the ladies is pretty nonexistent. Whenever I go on a date, everything goes wrong."

Both Sam and Dean arched an eyebrow. "Everything?" the latter asked.

"Yeah, well, at one time the screen in the cinema burned down," Brian offered with a shrug and added, "But the girl didn't die, if that's what you're asking."

Frowning, Sam crossed his arms in front of him. "And there was nobody before that bad luck streak?" he asked.

"Well..." Brian drawled, and he wasn't sure whether he shouldn't have invented a fictional character for this role play after all. But he was too bad at improvising anyway, so he spilled the beans at last. "When I graduated from high school, I went to Vegas with a friend of mine," he explained with an expression as neutral as possible, "We got drunk pretty bad and ended up marrying."

Sam's eyes widened. "I never knew you had a wife," he commented.

"Well, it didn't last long," Brian explained, "We got divorced after a month and never even spoke again after that."

"So you don't know what became of her," Dean deduced.

Inhaling deeply, Brian stared at his feet. "She died a year later," he stated numbly, "and I have it on good resources that she pretty much hated me by the end."

Sam's frown deepened, but it turned compassionate at the same time, "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Listen," Brian went on quickly before anybody else could go on with the role play, and in that moment, he really hated how the wind was howling through the house after some other windows must have been blown open, "I get that Sarah makes a good subject for this case, but please don't suggest she might be a ghost haunting me."

Dean, who had opened his mouth to speak before, now closed it and exchanged a hilariously clueless look with Sam.

"They weren't going to," Linda assured him quickly and patted him on the shoulder for assurance before narrowing her eyes at Sam, "Right?"

"Of course not," Sam replied just a bit too quickly and took a breath, "but you can tell us about her, if you'd like. This doesn't seem like something you've ever talked about before, and it does help to just, you know, get over things."

Sighing, Brian slumped his shoulders and sniffed the air. "Let's not get the burgers burnt," he commented.

As expected, Dean jumped up from his position against the shelf, any former thoughts forgotten. "Shit," he cursed under his breath as he hurried back towards the frying pan.

Sending her friend another worried glance, Linda, too, finally returned to her post with the sandwiches.

Sighing, Sam set back to work on the vegetables for the burgers and salad, and finally Brian joined him again.

"She was a cute girl, you know," Brian offered at last. He wasn't sure whether talking about her would really do him any good, especially since all of it had happened so long ago anyway, but he didn't feel like putting his friend off, either. Thus, he kept his eyes glued to the tomatoes he still hadn't finished chopping and went on, "I really liked her, and I even considered asking her out, but as soon as that accidental marriage happened, well..." He gulped. "Things kinda spiralled downward."

Sam offered a sympathetic smile. "She didn't really want to let you go again, did she?" he asked.

Brian shook his head in response. "As I said, she was a cute girl. Heck, I still carry around our wedding picture wherever we go because it was really awesome at first," he began and heaved a heartfelt sigh, "But she quickly grew clingy, and bossy, and possessive. When I finally got the courage to tell her it wouldn't work out, she tried blackmailing me with the child she was allegedly carrying." The wind picked up again, and he finished the tomatoes at last.

"Allegedly?" Sam inquired slowly as he walked around his friend to rinse the knife at the sink before attending to the frying pan Dean must have put there earlier.

Blinking, Brian vaguely wondered where the other Winchester had vanished off to, or when he had, for that matter, but he really couldn't get his mind off the matter at hand anyway. He had never talked to anyone about what had really happened with Sarah, and for some reason, it felt really relieving. She had threatened him back then, and there was no way she would have been pregnant. Not from him, anyway, for they had played it safe every time. "Well, let's just say," he replied quietly, "She never got that child."

He released another sigh full of pain and anger from long ago, and for some reason, he could see his own breath in front of him.

Then a lightbulb exploded right above his head.

And finally, Brian heard a voice he had never expected to hear again.

"Our child died because of you."

Brian's heart skipped a beat, and he was about to yell at Linda for scaring him like this, but when he turned around to face her, she stood motionless and looked just as shocked as he felt.

And when he followed her gaze, he found himself face to face with...

With...

Pale, bloodless and grimacing...

He was looking at the ghostly image of his ex-wife.

And she opened her mouth in a silent scream that split the windows.

"You killed it," she wailed in an unearthly voice as she approached him, "You killed me." She raised her hand towards his throat, and he could not move a muscle, "You ruined _everything_."

And just as she was about to touch him – and iron frying pan went right through her. She dissolved into thin air in an instant.

Frozen to the spot, both Brian and Linda gaped wordlessly at Sam, who was still holding the pan in his hand. "You'd better grab some salt or iron," he advised them as he scanned the half-lit room warily, "Because it looks like Sarah was pregnant after all."

And all the colour drained from Brian's face. "What?" he whispered hoarsely, and his mind adamantly refused to process anything that had happened within the last minute.

He had just seen Sarah, as a ghost, and...

And before he knew it, she appeared again on the other side of the room, ghostly and pale and furious and terrifying and...right behind Sam, who spun around just a bit too late.

Her hand missed its original aim, but her fingers, shaped liked claws, still ended up digging themselves into his shoulder. Sam inhaled sharply, and the pan dropped from his hand. "You will not stand between me and revenge," Sarah screeched in an inhuman voice and dug her fingers deeper, making Sam flinch. Steadying himself against the counter, he didn't seem able to move away, not from a grip like this one, at any case, but... "Dean, hurry the hell up," he exclaimed loudly and hissed in pain as he tried inching back, moving his hand across the counter.

It looked as if he was looking for something, and when Brian's mind finally caught on, he already saw the object in question flying across his own field of vision.

In an act of ingenuity, Linda had unfrozen from the shock and flung the entire salt shaker in Sarah's direction.

An otherworldly screech rang through the air, and for the second time that night, Brian watched the ghost of his ex-wife dissolving in front of him...and returning at an entirely different spot.

Appearing in the doorway, Sarah stretched out her arms and flung Linda against the cupboard without even touching her.

"Shit," he heard Sam cursing behind him, but he couldn't get himself to turn around.

Because, just as Sarah was advancing on him again, Linda sunk to the floor unconsciously.

Inhaling deeply, Brian took a step back. "This can't be happening," he rasped, and he tried hard not to hyperventilate, "This is some joke, right?" He turned his helpless look at Sam, who was hurrying to his side – and got tossed against the table a moment later.

"You should never have abandoned us," Sarah went on in that same shrill voice as she appeared close enough to cup Brian's chin at last.

He looked right back into her eyes, and for a moment, he remembered the woman she had been before everything had gone downhill between the two of them. And if only for that, he got himself to say the two words he should have offered her so long ago. "I'm sorry."

For a moment, the entire room went quiet.

For a moment, he hoped she would smile at him.

But another brief moment later, her face distorted into a hateful grimace and her grip turned icy and her mouth opened in a horrible scream and...

And she caught fire and burned away right in front of him with another agonizing screech.

He stared ahead, aghast and terrified and confused.

He expected her to appear again, to take the revenge she had sworn to do.

But for a long time, nothing happened. He was still frozen on the spot, Linda was still lying on the floor motionless and Sam...Sam was breathing heavily as he slowly struggled back to his feet.

Inhaling deeply, Brian finally convinced his feet to move so he could check up on Linda, but...

"Is it over?" he asked weakly and didn't trust his voice to phrase much more than that.

Surprisingly though, it was not Sam who answered.

"Yeah," he heard Dean's gruff voice from the doorway, "I couldn't find the picture in time, so I burnt your whole damn bag."

Brian's eyes widened.

"You did _what_?"

* * *

Sighing deeply, Brian sat in front of the fireplace. With Sarah's ghost gone at last, they had figured it was safe enough to extinguish the flames. But that did not mean many of his belongings had survived the fire. Sure enough, his keys were gleaming up at him and still looked barely deformed, yet beyond that...

He should be grateful they'd gotten out of this relatively unscathed. Getting up to join the others again, his gaze travelled from Linda, who was lying on the couch still unconscious yet with nothing worse than a bump on the back of her head, to Dean, who was tending to his husband's injury with just a bit too much practised ease for a mechanic.

Worse yet, Sam, who had shrugged out of his plaid shirt and lifted the sleeve of the t-shirt he'd worn underneath totally unfazed by the gruesome amount of blood streaming from his shoulder, appeared just as familiar to the procedure of getting hurt and patched up afterwards as his partner did.

And unlike Dean, who was busy cleaning the wound, Sam was looking straight at Brian. "At least now you can start dating again," he offered with a conciliatory smile.

Inhaling deeply, Brian sat down on the vacant armchair. "You're saying that was Sarah's doing?" he asked at last.

"And it would only have gotten worse," Sam replied, "She was still pretty comprehensible, but at one point, any ghost turns into a vengeful spirit."

Leaning back, Brian tore his gaze off his friend – or, more accurately, his now disinfected wound that still looked pretty horrible – and stared at the ceiling. "So ghosts really exist, huh?" he asked, and his thoughts travelled back to his ex-wife...who, as he had finally found out after three whole years, he had let down much worse than he had ever imagined - regardless of whether it was his child or not.

"Yeah," Sam responded, "it's just that most people are lucky enough to never find out."

Sighing, Brian kept staring at the ceiling, and as his eyes adapted to the relative darkness, he could once again trace the faint outlines of the devil's trap painted there. As if the battle and the revelation about his ex-wife hadn't been enough of a shock already, he was slowly beginning to understand something even more dramatic. "You were never just fans," he stated blankly as he finally got the real reason for the devil's trap he was sitting under, "None of this has ever been about LARPing in the first place."

"Well, no," Sam replied with a nonchalant shrug that earned him a scolding grunt by his husband who was still busy tending to his injury, "I guess you can say the books are a good indicator of all the monsters that crawl around in the darkness."

"And you hunt these things," Brian went on weakly, "Just like the Sam and Dean in the books?"

"Well, yeah," Sam replied sheepishly, "Every once in a while."

"Every once in a _week_," Dean corrected him gruffly, joining the conversation at last just as he finished the bandaging, "Which brings us to the real problem here."

Both Sam and Brian blinked at the mere tone of the statement.

"This," Dean ranted as he vaguely pointed towards the fireplace, "should have been a five-minute hunt." He glared at his husband, "And now this..." His gaze lowered to the newly bandaged shoulder, "is ruining my plans for the weekend _and_ for tonight."

Sighing, Sam reached for his sleeve and rolled it down again just so seeing the bandage wouldn't set his husband off even more. But his shirt was still stained with blood, so he gave up that effort with another sigh. "Look, no need to change the plan," he insisted and rolled his shoulder to stress his point, "There's so much scar tissue there I barely even feel the wound."

Now it was Dean's turn to sigh. "That's the whole point, man," he countered wearily and leant back at last.

Seeing the two quarrelling over something he had ultimately triggered, Brian couldn't help slumping his shoulders. "I'm sorry," he spoke guiltily.

Sam was about to respond, but Dean hushed him with a glare. "Do you even know what you're apologizing for?" he replied at a dark voice.

Trying to hold that menacing glare, Brian averted his gaze at last. "Well, I didn't intend to, but I did get Sam hurt," he stuttered at last, still remembering Dean's introductory words vividly, and gulped with a glance at his other friend, "and Linda, too."

Sighing, Dean got up at last and suddenly looked even more intimidating. "Yeah, well, that's what I'm going to give you a hard time about," he assured Brian helpfully, "but that's not what you should really be sorry about."

Frowning, Brian did not understand.

"You got your girl pregnant and ditched her," Dean went on mercilessly, "and even after today, you act as if that wasn't your responsibility." Huffing, he crossed his arms in front of him, "If you ask me, you deserved that haunting."

Blanching, Brian shrunk back in his chair. "I...didn't know," he tried justifying himself and cast a helpless look at Sam, but even his so-called friend merely shook his head.

"That's no excuse, Brian," Sam stated matter-of-factly, "We all make mistakes, some smaller, some..." He grimaced, "...pretty dramatic, but we can't just run away from them."

Inhaling deeply, Brian looked away. "We just burned her ghost," he replied bitterly, "There's not much I _can_ do to make it up to her."

"Well, you could man up at least," Dean countered, "Take the responsibility for your actions instead of running away from them." He frowned and added, "That might even have saved her, by the way."

Grimacing bitterly, Brian closed his eyes and took several deep breaths.

Maybe he should have fled from this house before dinner.

Maybe he should have avoided meeting Sam's steaming hot _wife_, just as he had intended to.

But even though Dean's words weren't steaming hot but outright scorching, Brian couldn't help wondering if...

Maybe, he should accept all the weirdness he had experienced that day.

Maybe he should listen to these men instead of ignoring their advice just as he did it with everything even remotely unpleasant.

Maybe he _should_ man up at last.

And so, taking a deep breath, Brian dared getting up and standing his ground. Still towering above him in all his intimidating glory, Dean arched an expectant eyebrow, and Brian felt his legs ready to turn into jelly altogether.

But by some miracle, he managed opening his mouth at last. "Let me help you with the repairs," he asked – no, he demanded it.

And for one horrible moment, Dean narrowed his eyes.

Then, however, he heaved a sigh and loosened his posture.

Brian released a breath he had not even known he had been holding, closed his eyes in relief and...

"Damn it, Dean!"

...before he even knew what that was about, a fist collided with his cheekbone and sent him stumbling right back into the armchair. The impact sent waves of pain flaring through his body and turned his vision black and white, and once his sight returned after a few seconds, he found himself staring up at Dean with renewed terror.

"Now _this_ was for damaging my property," the older man ground out and turned around at last.

"Brian, you okay?" Sam called out in worry before addressing his husband again. "Damn it, Dean," he reprimanded him, "We replaced those windows five times already. No reason to lash out like that."

"Yeah, well, I wasn't talking about the windows," Dean countered as he walked towards the door.

It took Sam a moment to catch on. "What, so I'm your _property_ now?" he asked incredulously as he glared after his husband.

"You've always been, bitch," Dean replied with a chuckle that died down once he reached the kitchen, "And I swear to God, I'm gonna punch him again if the burgers got ruined."

Looking after his husband for another while even though he could only see the doorway at this point anyway, Sam finally released a sigh and met Brian's still slightly traumatized expression again. "Sorry about that," he offered, "You want to cool that?"

Pondering, Brian regarded the offer for a moment. Certainly, his cheek now hurt like hell, and the hand he was covering it with probably wouldn't keep it from swelling, but more importantly – he had chosen to man up, hadn't he?

"No, I'm fine," he replied offhandedly and admitted, "I deserved it anyway."

Sam sent him a small, appreciative smile before frowning towards the kitchen. "I'm pretty sure I saw the burgers flying through the air earlier," he explained as he stood up at last, "I'd better do some damage control."

With that, Sam was already out of the door – closing it behind him this time, for whatever reason – and suddenly, Brian found himself sitting in the living room alone.

With a swelling cheek and enough time and silence to think about the day's events at last.

So ghosts were real.

So basically everything he had been afraid of as a kid was real.

And one of the fellow students he had grown close enough he would consider him a friend had turned out to be a hunter.

Like in the books.

And as he got up and let his gaze wander across the room, he finally saw all the strange little things under an entirely new light.

All of this was real.

Just as the painting on the ceiling could trap a demon, the various silver knives in the showcase could, and maybe even had, kill things like werewolves or Dschinn. Also, the tomes in the shelf weren't just made to look old – some of them must have already been around for centuries and been used well in that time. Squinting, Brian noted a particular book with brown leather binding that looked more robust, but also more worn-out than the others. He curiously pulled it out. As it turned out, it was a hand-written guide on all kinds of monsters, and he leaved through the pages, Brian finally realized just what he was holding in his hands.

Just like in the Supernatural books, but much older than them – this was the journal of a hunter named John, and as it turned out, he also had a last name.

John Winchester.

He felt a lump forming in his throat.

Three hours ago, he would have been pleasantly surprised to find yet another incredibly well-made piece of merchandise in their household.

Now, however...

He knew they were hunters, and he knew that all seals and weapons within this house were authentic and fully functional.

He had dismissed the fitting names as a coincidence, but if they had this journal, too, then didn't that make them...the real deal?

True enough, the Sam and Dean in the books had been brothers rather than a married couple, but if this theory was true – if his new friends hadn't based their lifestyle on the books by Carver Edlund, but if it had indeed happened the other way around, then the author might as well have altered their relationship to make the story more widely accessible.

Pondering, Brian frowned at the journal.

It would have to be either this explanation or...his friends currently quarreling in the kitchen – he certainly hoped they were only quarreling – were indeed brothers.

Married brothers.

Was that even legal?

He noticed himself blushing at the absurdity of the notion, and as he tried thinking of something else and found himself staring at the journal again, he realized he would just have to read the first few pages to find out whether all those weird and immoral fangirl ideas Linda had sometimes told him about had hit the mark after all.

Apropos Linda...

Glancing over, Brian was relieved to find her shifting on the couch as she was just about to wake up.

Any former thoughts forgotten, he placed the journal back on the shelf and hurried to her side.

Or, well, he hadn't actually forgotten something as ethically troubling as this.

But he had been invading their privacy in looking at that journal in the first place, so the least he could do was following Dean's advice.

He would man up and just ask them about it.

Later.

For now, he had a friend to tend to who got hurt because of him.

"Hey," he greeted her as he sat down on the armchair just next to her, "you okay?"

Rubbing her eyes, she sat up surprisingly quickly. "Yeah, I guess," she replied slowly and looked at him, "What day is it?"

For a moment, he worried she might have been concussed after all, but finally, a tiny grin gave away that she had been joking all along.

And that expression alone reminded him of the fact he should finally man up in another respect, too.

Thus, he gathered what little courage he still had left within him and gulped down the lump in his throat. "This is the day I'm asking you out on a date," he stated.

Linda's eyes widened in a mixture of shock and pleasant surprise and his heart stopped beating altogether. Finally, though, she grinned back at him. "I already thought you'd never notice."

Something warm stirred in his stomach and he felt an inexplicable need to pull her into a hug.

But...

A mere hour ago, she had gotten hurt.

By a ghost.

Because of him.

There were lots of things they should be talking about in that moment, but no matter how much it mattered to him personally, his long overdue confession to her was nothing compared to the real revelation of the day.

"Linda, you do remember what happened earlier, right?" he began, sought her eyes and gulped.

She might not have expected that quick change of topic, but her forehead wrinkled in thought. And then she blanched. "The ghost," she drawled and looked at him in a mixture of disbelief and panic, "That wasn't a dream?"

Inhaling deeply, he straightened his posture. "I don't know what to think about this either, but there's no denying it," he admitted with a slight grimace, "Ghosts are real." Her eyes widened just as her jaw dropped. "Just like demons and shape shifters and everything."

It was a good thing his words had baffled her speechless, because this way, Brian got all the time he needed to phrase what felt most surreal to him out of this entire mess.

"They all exist," he summarized and inhaled as he lifted his head to glance towards the kitchen, "Even Sam and Dean do."

Following his gaze, Linda made a strangled noise.

And he was surprised she didn't simply faint again – he, for one, certainly felt like doing so.

* * *

_A week later_

He tried listening to the lecture, he really did.

But as every so often these days, Brian found his attention drifting off, drawn to an empty seat not far from his own.

Sam hadn't attended a single one of their shared classes since that fateful evening.

Inhaling deeply, Brian tore his gaze off the unoccupied seat.

After they had freed Sarah, after he had finally allowed himself to understand what had really happened, the remaining night had passed in a blur – with a bucket full of left-over chicken wings from the night before, curt answers to important questions and colourful speculation on a myth from Harry Potter.

Especially the latter, Brian had understood as a feeble attempt to overcome the awkwardness. Sam might have given them the brief monster talk and dropped a few lines on the books' origins – which just so happened to coincide with what was written in the inofficial continuation of the Supernatural books, thank you very much. But even so, it didn't make things much easier to stomach.

Even now, a week later, Brian found it hard to believe that the soft-spoken student he had just spent weeks working together with on a group project was supposed to be the same man who had challenged the devil – and won.

Heck, he found it hard to believe that a person like this could even _exist_.

But what little he had witnessed of the Winchesters' alarmingly experienced ghost hunting practice gave him more than enough reason to start accepting the truth.

And it scared him more than he cared to admit.

But what worried him even more than one of his favourite fictional characters turning out to be one of his favourite fellow students was the fact that said fellow student hadn't shown up again since then.

Granted, Brian had often noticed his friend missing the lectures. Rarely any of their professors bothered taking attendance nowadays, and Sam had more than once explained that learning from the textbooks worked just as well for him.

Frankly, Brian had always assumed Sam just couldn't be bothered to get up for the early morning lectures – especially with all those rumours of his hot wife floating around.

As it had turned out now, Sam had probably indeed spent all that time with his better half – on the road, that is.

Hunting things, saving people.

Someone was rustling behind him, and Brian noticed with a sigh that his own gaze had, once again, wandered off to Sam's vacant chair.

So his friend might have been doing this kind of thing all his life – but it hadn't happened in a long time that Sam had skipped lectures for an entire week. As a matter of fact, Brian couldn't recall a single time his friend had missed his favourite course. Yet here he was, half-listening to his professor's explanations on international taxation and Sam's seat was still just vacant as –

Brian's eyes widened as he witnessed Sam sitting down in his chair at last.

He was twenty minutes late and looked worse for wear, but he had made it after all. And as Brian silently watched his friend getting engrossed in the lecture with his eyes sparkling and his notebook ready, he once again found the truth hard to believe.

Sitting there, geeking over taxation of all things, Sam looked as harmless as they come.

But underneath all those layers of flannel...the man was armed to the teeth and prepared for anything.

For a good reason.

* * *

"Hey Brian, you handed in the paper, right?"

Nearly jumping from his chair, Brian vaguely noticed he must have dozed off during the lecture – while wondering how to best approach his friend, at that. Suddenly, both problems had solved themselves, for the lecture must have ended long ago and his friend was standing right in front of him.

Then again, Brian only consciously noticed he had been asked a question when their eyes met at last. "Of course," he stuttered and remembered how he had put even more effort into the final corrections he had promised to take care of anyway.

Nodding, Sam leant against the neighbouring table. "Thanks, man," he breezed, "The case turned out more urgent than we'd anticipated, so we kind of left in a hurry."

Brian opened his mouth and closed it again. He had been pondering so much about how to talk to his friend now, but Sam just...didn't seem much different. As a matter of fact, it felt like any other Wednesday afternoon, except for the fact that Sam had just willingly mentioned an actual case. That left Brian to wonder just how much he would ever get to know about the gruesome details of his friend's journeys, but then again, he was in no position to pry. So instead he settled for an amicable smile and the original topic. "No problem at all," he offered, "You helped me much more than that with...Sarah."

Sam's face fell slightly. "...Are you alright?" he asked quietly.

Stiffening unconsciously, Brian found himself caught off guard.

Now, he should have, but he hadn't expected for Sam to bring up that topic right away.

Against his better judgement Brian had spent the better part of the last week thinking about anything but his personal problems. He would never forget, let alone forgive himself, for what had happened to Sarah – but there was no way he could ever make up for it either. So for the time being, he kept himself occupied with other things, and as it happened, the Winchesters' mere existence served as the best distraction he would ever get.

"Yeah, I guess," he lied at last and directed the topic towards the badly needed distraction with a nod towards his friend, "How about you?"

Sam arched a lazy eyebrow. "Shoulder's good, if that's what you're asking," he offered with a light shrug. On that note, though, he completely neglected any mention of the colourful bruise on his cheek he had not even bothered concealing.

For better of for worse, Brian's gaze lingered on it a bit too long.

"Harry Potter fans and witchcraft," Sam offered as an explanation, and Brian was once again surprised just how much Sam would suddenly disclose so openly.

And then it hit him. "What, we were talking about a real case back then?" he exclaimed helplessly, and suddenly he felt stupid again. He had taken it as a joke and jested along, but whatever monster had taken on skinning people alive and leaving Harry Potter props at the crime scene must have been real at last.

It had given Sam a new bruise in any case.

"It's called LARPing," the hunter explained with a shrug, "The kids wanted to add some details to their role-play experience that were a bit too authentic." He heaved a sigh and rubbed his eye. "Seriously, that kind of thing happens way too often."

Gulping, Brian leant back and tried taking in that particular information.

Monsters were real. The Winchesters were real. Now witchcraft was real, too.

And apparently, there was no limit to the weirdness you could find in the world.

Would this be the new normal, though?

Now that Brian knew, would Sam actually tell him more?

Lost in thought and growing more and more confused, Brian met his friend's eyes at last.

He was once again surprised that, even now that he knew all those things, Sam just didn't feel any _different_ than before.

After all, he was still the same person Brian had been studying with – only with a few more facets and some more skeletons in his closet.

Most importantly, Sam was still his friend, and for that reason alone Brian finally dared asking the one question that had been bugging him all week, "Are you really brothers, though?" Frankly, he wouldn't even mind either way, but he wanted to know nonetheless. Hoping he hadn't said something wrong after all, he watched his friend's reaction in light apprehension.

But Sam merely heaved a sigh. "Let's just say," the hunter began, ran a hand through his hair and looked out of the window at the sky above, "You don't go to hell and back without starting to appreciate how good life can really be."

* * *

A mere year later, Sam graduated with flying colours, a dislocated shoulder and a wide grin on his face.

Knowing their history, Brian would have deemed it impossible for either Winchester to ever smile like that again. Yet when he caught sight of the two of them after the ceremony, he once again noticed the one thing about them that was even more amazing than their dangerous lifestyle.

They were completely at ease – with each other, with themselves, with their lives.

As the stars were shining brightly in the sky, only the sound of cicadas chirping disrupted the silence of a peaceful summer evening. Standing on the parking lot just in front of the auditorium, Sam and Dean were leaning against the Impala, arguing over what might as well be the next case.

In doing what they were good at, together, they had found a way to live their lives to the fullest – and Brian couldn't even get himself to feel envious.

If anybody deserved a happy ending, it was the two of them.

* * *

**Disenchanted ~ End**


End file.
